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'^ ' 1852. 







Introduction, . • 
Synopsis of Accentuation, 
Lessons, . • 



Introduction, ...••• 
Obsenrations, • • • • • 

Summarj of the Explanation of the Mariu» 
Synopsis of Intonation, • • • • 
Lessons, ••••••• 





The Lessons annexed to this first part of the 
Introduction to Elocution will be found printed 
with certain marks which require explanation. 
They are intended to afford assistance in teaching 
to read, by regulating the pauses and accentuation. 
These marks are of two kinds. The first kind, 
placed between two words, may be regarded as 
an addition to the ordinary punctuation ; marking 
those pauses which ought to be made in reading, 
but which are not marked in the punctuation. The 
marks for this purpose are two : the one, a double 
horizontal line or hyphen ("-), marking a longer or 
more decisive pause, usually separating the sub- 
ject from the verb, and the noun from its descrip- 
tion, or its adjunct connected by a relative pronoun ; 
and the other, a horizontal line or single hyphen (-), 
uniting separate words or phrases into one whole, 
and usually requiring a shorter pause. The second 
kind of marks are accents : the acute accent, sloping 
downward to the left (''), marking the stronger ; 
and the grave accent, sloping downward to the 
right ( '), marking the weaker or secondary accent. 


A brief explanation of the principles on which 
these marks have been inserted, may afford some 
aseful hints in reading, and in teaching to read. 

When children begin to read, they give to 
every syllable an equal pause, and all are equally 
accented, thus : 


The next step in their progress is, that they class 
those syllables together which form words, leaving 
the others as before, thus : 

Tis'the- voic e-of-the-sluggard- I-heard~him~complain. 

The words *' sluggard" and " complain," ,are now 
heard, not as four separate syllables, but as two 

Words are thus formed of syllables, partly by 
pronouncing the syllables more closely together, 
and partly by giving an accent to one of the 
syllables, round which the other syllables are 
congregated; as, sluggard, complain, majesty, 
majestic, recollect, difficulty, sufficiently, manufac- 
ture, voluntarily, accumulating, gratification, &c. 
As the number of syllables in a word increases, 
especially when, the accent being near the begin- 
ning or end of the word, a number of unaccented 
syllables are thrown together, a secondary accent 
is introduced. Thus, in the word, v6luntar3y^ 
the primary accent being on the first syllable, voU 
there is a strong tendency to place another, or 


secondary accent, on the third syllable, tar. So, 
in the word gratification, the chief accent being 
on the fourth syllable, ca, the first, gra, acquires 
a certain degree of accent. When words exceed 
five syllables, a second accent is always neces- 
sary, .vhereyer the principal accent may be; as. 
communicativeness, reconsideration, comprehen- 
sibility, incomprehensibility, antitrinitarian. In 
these long words, there are frequently three 
accents distinctly heard. Indeed a discriminating 
ear will discover that there is a sort of gradation 
of accent running through them. Thus, in such 
a word as incomprehensibliness^ the accentuation ^ 
is regulated thus: the chief accent is on the 
syllable hen^ the second on com, the tliird on 
ness^ the fourth on in, the remainder being totally 

Now, there are constantly occurring, phrases, in 
which, though the words are separately written, 
yet they are so closely conneisted in sense, that 
they require to be treated in precisely the same 
maimer ; namely, to be combined, as it were, into 
one word, by pronouncing them closely together, 
and giving to one of them an accent, and some- 
times to others of them secondary and tertiary 
accents. Thus, the line which we have already 
quoted, ought to be read as if it consisted of four 
words, thus : 

Tis thev6ice— of the sluggard"-! h^ard him— compUun. 


Now, much of the perspicuity of reading consists 
in thus grouping together those words which are 
closely connected, and which present one object to 
the mind. And nothing creates greater confusion 
and indistinctness, than when a reader or speaker 
separates those words which ought to be united, 
and joins together those which ought to be separ- 
ated. Let any one read the above line differently 
grouped, and ho will discover the injury that is 
done to the perspicuity of the language, thus : 

Tis the—voice of the— sluggard I—heard him— complain. 


Tis the— voice of the— sluggard— I heard— him complain. 

In the following lessons, the words of each lesson 
are distributed into groups, each forming a com- 
pound word, to be read closely together, and 
having an accent on the principal word ; so that 
when read, it may be heard, not as a succession 
of syllables or words, but as a succession of phrases, 
each containing a distinct idea within itself, and 
kept separate from the others. 

But these compound words or phrases are not 
connected together with equal closeness. Some 
of them require to bo pronounced more closely 
together than others, because they are more nearly 
connected in sense. Thus (to keep by the same 
example,) there ought, manifestly, to be a longer 
pause after the word sluggard, than after the words 


voice and him. To express this difference of con- 
nexion between different phrases, the two marks 
of pauses already noticed, have been adopted : — 
the double hyphen, intimating the longer pause, 
and the single hyphen, the shorter pause. When 
one of the ordinary points intervenes, no additional 
mark is deemed necessary ; because any of them 
implies a division between one phrase and another. 
Thus, in our example, these different connexions 
might b^ marked in this maimer : 

Tis the v6ice-of the sldggard~~I h^ard him-compUdn. 

Or thus : 

Tis the v6ice-of the sldggard, I h^ard him-compl4in. 

Sometimes words are so closely connected, 
while yet two, or even more of them, may be words 
which ought to bo distinctly marked in reading, 
that it is difficult to say, whether they should be 
united together in one compound phrase, with 
primary and secondary accents ; or whether they 
should be regarded as separate phrases. In these 
cases, the principal words are accented ; but with- 
out any mark of separation being placed between 

This suggests another very important topic, 
namely, primary and secondary accents. In unit- 
ing the phrases into which language is distributed, 
it will be found that there is a great diversity 
amongst the accents, some being more strong and 



marked than others. Thus, in our example, the 
accent on the word sluggard is stronger than (hat 
on the word voice ; and the accent on the word 
complain^ is stronger than that on the word heard. 
To mark these distinctions, the acute and grave 
accents are employed; the acute to express the 
stronger, and the grave the weaker accent. Thus : 

Tis the vbice-of the sluggard" J heUrd him-compl&in. 

The whole line is thus divided into two compound 
phrases, by the double hyphen after the word 
sluggard; and the two parts of these compound 
phrases are separated, yet combined by the marks 
of division after the words voice and him^ and by a 
principal accent being given to the words sluggard 
and camplaifi, and secondary accents to the words 
voice and heard. 

One general principle of ascertaining where the 
accent lies, and which determines a great variety 
of cases, is, that whatever word limits the phrase 
or renders it more specific, requires the primary 
accent : because the limitation is usually that which 
the speaker wishes, or finds it necessary most 
determinately to impress upon his auditors. Thus, 
when an adjective qualifies a noun, the adjective 
carries the accent, as '' a good man," '^ a till 
horse," " a high house." When an adverb quali- 
fies a verb, the adverb carries the accent, as ''read 
slowly," *' speak distinctly." The negative parti- 
cle, however, does not come under this rule, but 


is treated as if it formed part of the verb itself, as 
" read not," ** thou shalt not." On the same prin- 
ciple, in compound numbers, the smaller number 
carries the accent, as " twentyone," " twenty- 
two," " twenty-three," &e. ; or, "one and twenty,'* 
** two and twenty," " three and twenty," " a hun- 
dred and fifty-one," " a hundred and fifty-two," 
&c. When a verb follows its nominative, the verb 
carries the accent, as " the sun— shines," " the 
wind— blows," " the thrush— sings.'* In the case 
of a verb governing its objective, the objective 
carries the accent, as ** readthe letter," " call-the 
servant," " light-the candle." But if the objec- 
tive be a pronoun, the verb carries the accent, as 
" caU him," " light it," " read it." The pronoun 
may be emphatic, in which case it would carry the 
accent ; and it may be laid down as a general rule, ' 
that to accent a pronoun always suggests a con- 
trast ; that is, it renders the pronoun emphatic. 

When one noun governs another in the posses- 
sive case, the noun governed usually carries the 
primary accent, as " the light of the sun," ** the 
cold of the ice," " t' e warmth of the fire." But 
when nouns form their possessive case by adding 
«, the governing word is frequently that which the 
speaker has most directly before his mind, and 
therefore takes the primary accent ; as " the chil- 
dren's book," " a lion's mdne." 

These, however, are but the elements of sen- 
tences, for it frer^uently happens, tba.^. ^^y^^^^rw 


qualify nouns ; and adverbs, adjectiyes and verbs ; 
and verbs have their nominatives and their objec- 
tives in the same sentence. 

It will naturally occur to an attentive reader^ 
that the combination of these various cases must 
create a great diversity in the intensity of accents : 
one accent, as it were, rising above another ; and 
so in fact it does ; and accurately to mark them 
all, would require a system of accentuation far too 
complex to be generally useful. But although 
only two marks have been employed, yet, when 
the sentence requires that the successive accents 
should increase in intensity, this is indicated by 
two, or more, primaries or secondaries, following 
one another in succession. Two marks, therefore, 
have, upon the whole, been deemed sufficient ; and 
the reader is left to make the more delicate varia- 
tions from his own judgment and taste, in which« 
however, he will be materially assisted by atten- 
tion to the principles above explained. 

A few examples of the rules given above, com- 
bined with one another, follow : 

The fair moon"-shines-brfghtly. 

The br6ad Rh6ne's''foaming channels~~pr6udlj shone. 

The c<irse-of the Lbrd— is— in the house-of the 
wfcked ; but— he bl^sseth-the habitktion-of the jiist. 

Trdstrin the Lbrd-with fiJHhine h^art ; and l^ao 
Qot-to thine 6wn understanding. 


WisdomHs the principal thing, th^refore—g^t-wis- 
dom ; and, with ^1-thy getting, getninderst&nding. 

If &ny of you— Ikck wisdom, let him ksk-of G6d, 
that giveth-to &R men-lfberally, and upbrd.idethnot, and— 
it shall be given him. But— let him ksk4n f^th, nbthing 
w&vering : for-he that w&vereth— is— like-a wkre-of the 
s^a, driven- with the wind —and t6ssed : for-l^t not— thkt 
man-think— that he shall rec^ive-4ny thing-of the Lbrd. 
A d6uble-minded mlui— is unst^ble-in 611 his w&ys. 

It has been mentioned above, that pronouns 
are usually unaccented, except when they are em- 
phatic. This observation renders it necessary to 
say something of the nature of emphasis, which is 
regulated upon a different principle from accents 
which have been explained above. Emphasis 
always suggests some contrast ; and any word in 
a sentence may, when a contrast is intended to be 
suggested, become emphatic. Thus the phrase 
" on the table," would, if no contrast were in- 
tended to be suggested, be accented on the sylla- 
ble ta of the word idble. And if the word an be 
accented, it immediately suggests the idea, on, as 
distinguished from under — not under^ but on the 
table. The naturally accented syllable, however, 
may also bo the emphatic one. Thus, if the word 
table be pronounced emphatically, ^' on the table" it 
suggests the idea, not on some other place — ^not on 
the chair^ noT on the side-hoard; but on the table. 

Or, to take a well-known example, the following 


question, if no contrast were intended, woiild be 
accented thus : 

Db you rlde-to tbwu-to dky ? 

But each of these words in this question, may, 
by being pronounced emphatically, be made to 
suggest a contrast, thus : 

Do you ride to town to-day — or send your servant ? 
Do you ride to town to-day — or walk ? 
Do you ride to to von to-day — or to the country ? 
Do you ride to town to-day — or to morrow ? 

Even the word to^ made emphatic, would inti- 
mate, although obscurely, the idea of riding not 
quite to the town. 

Do you ride to town to-day — or only part of the way ? 

Emphasis then is very different from accent, 
although it is sometimes confounded with it ; be- 
cause very frequently emphasis is expressed, like 
accent, by a louder tone of voice. Emphasis, 
however, is not confined to this mode of expres- 
sion. It may be expressed by almost any means 
that will single out the emphatic word from the 
rest of the sentence, and render it prominent and 
remarkable. It may be expressed by the tone, by 
the pitch of the voice, by increasing or decreasing 
the quantity, by pronouncing the emphatic word 
in a whisper, or by simply making a distinct pause 
before or after it, or both before and after it. 
These different modes, however, of expressing 


emphasis, produce very different effects ; and they 
must be adapted to the nature of the emphasis that 
is intended to be expressed, for which it would be 
diflicult to give any other rule, than to watch the 
natural intonations and modulations of the voice. 

Emphatic words will, in the following lessons, 
be distinguished by being printed in a different 
letter: those bearing an extraordinary emphasis 
in Capitals ; and those bearing a more ordinary 
emphasis in Italics. 

On these general principles, then, the following 
lessons have been marked by an eminent teacher 
of Elocution, who has done much to emancipate 
the art of reading and reciting from a slavish imita- 
tion of the tone and manner of particular teachers, 
or speakers, and to place it on a solid and natural 
foundation. This Introduction has been compiled 
under his correction, and may be regarded as an 
imperfect abstract of his very admirable system of 
accentuation. A synopsis of grouping and accen- 
tuation follows, containing phrases of various kinds, 
marked in the manner which has been explained ; 
and on these, pupils should be exercised before 
proceeding to the lessons. 




It has been deemed expedient to arrange under 
heads, the various kinds of phrases that occur 
most frequently in composition ; partly for the 
purpose of still further explaining the principles 
upon which children should be taught to distribute 
what they read into phrases, grouped together by 
means of pauses and accents ; and partly for the 
purpose of accustoming their car to the proper 
accentuation of such phrases, before they have to 
encounter them intermingled together in every 
possible form and order. 

The general principle of accentuation is, that 
whatever word, m any phrase, was most directly 
before the mind of the writer — or whatever word 
he was most desirous to impress upon the minds 
of his readers, should have, in reading, the primary 
or principal accent. The secondary accent is to 
be given to those words which are of second im- 
portance to be impressed on the mind of the 

If the writer has expressed himself well, the 
words bearing the primary and secondary accents 
may usually be determined by the form of the 
phrases which he uses. 


The following are the principal forms of phrases, 
the accentuation of which is regular, when undis- 
turbed by particular emphases. 


The word in apposition, or additive, takes the 
primary accent. 

The Mbunt Sluai. The pbet Mflton. Brbther R&rrj. 
The fbrd J&bbock. Ekrl P4ulett. Thfrteen. 

I, Daniel. Mungo Pirk. Twenty-6ue. 


The adjective, or adjectivj phrase, takes the 
primary accent. 

A dfligent pupil. A learned mkn. 

The r^d cross-kniglit. The fvy mantled--t5wer. 
The spirit stlrriiig~drum. The fncease breathing~mbm» 

Ah ! whb'can t^U—how m&ny a sbul'subUme. 
Of night"prim6val--and-of cliiu>s-6ld. 

The sp&cious {irniament-*on hfgh. 
With kU-the blde-eth^real sky, 
And spangled hekvens, a shfuing fr^e^ 
Their gr&t original— procl^m. 


The Terminational Possessive* 

The governing noun, being usually the promi- 
nent subject of discourse, takes the primary accent. 

St. Pkul's-epfstles. The pilgrim'8-pr6gress. 

The chr)stianVh6pe. Cicero's-orS-tions. 
The mknVlndustry. Bums*-o6eT^5. 


The patriot wkrrior's-sw6rd. Crektion's-v^t domkin. 
The ddrk t^mpestVhowL Henry'sT6yal crbwn. 

The wbrld's gl6ry~is-but drbss unclean. 
He subjected— to mkn's s6rvice-&ngel wings. 

Till— like ^vening's-sllent breath, 
Cbme—the gentlest touch-o£ d^ath. 

The Prepositional Possessive. 

The governed noun takes the primary. * 

The Iknd-of E'gypt. A crbwn-of diamonds. 

The city-of L6ndon. The wbrks-of Newton. 

The crbwn-of the king. The rbar-of the lion. 
The rights-of the people. The rbll-ofthe thtinder. 

Thkt-they may beUeve— that the Lbrd-God-of their 
ftlthers—the Gbd-o£ A'braham— the Gbd-o£ I'saac—and 
the Gbd-of Jdcob— hath app^ared-unto thee. 

Qualified Possessive, 

The hdppypMod-of the g61den kge. 
The piercing cbld-of the p61ar regions. 
The f6nd rem^mbrance-of our f6rmer y^ars. 
Departed spirits-of the mighty d^ad. 

The shuddering tenant-of the frigid zbne, 
B61dly proclaims— that hdppy spbt-his 6wn ; 
Ext61s— the treksures-of his 8t6rmy s^as. 
And his 16ng nights-of r^yelry-and 6ase. 

Compound Possessive. 

The servants—of the king-of Is^rael. 

The vines— of the hills-of Jud^. 

The sbldiers— of the king-of Gr^t Britain. 


The qualifying phrase takes the primary accent. 

A. wkll— thr^e feet-thfck. A hbrse— IB' hands-high. 

A c^et"-8fx yardfl-sqiiare. A vfesseHof 50' tons. 

On the 6ast side— tw6 thousand-ciibits, 
And-on the s6uth side— tw6 thousand-cdbits. 


Relative and Restrictive clauses take the pri- 
mary accent. 

Polfteness-withbut freedom. L^amingnnrithbutp^dantry. 
Sincdrity-withbut deceit. Relfgion-withbut oigotry. 

His ^nergies-as a m&n, his aff^ction-as a fiither, his 
8olicitude-as a king, his z^-as a christian, his Ibve-as a 
husband, were ubt relied. 

H6— who is 6pen-without levity, s^cret-withoiit cst&£t, 
hiimble - withbut meanness, b61d-withbut Insolence, 
c&utious-withbut anxiety, r^g^arret nbt f6rmal, mUd* 
yet nbt timid, flirm-yet nbt tyr&nmcal, is mdde— to pkss* 
the drdeals-of h6nour, frlendship-and virtue. 

The m&n— who f^ars G6d. H6— who Ibves-his kind. 

A bby— dev6ted-to stiidy— is siire-to exc61. 

A n&tion— f toed-for 86ng— and beauty's chkrms. 
Z^alous-yet m6dest, Innocent-though fr^e. 

Pktient-oft6il— serene-amidst al&rms, 
Infl^ble-in f^th— inylndble-in &rms. 


The simile, comparison, or illustrative phrase 
takes the primary accent. 

Ch^ty— like the sdn— brightens— ilHts 6bject8« 
And cum- as a sldmber— they die. 


Hbpe"Hhe b&lm-of life— sobthes us-iinder inisf6rtune. 

As n^w-bom bkbes— desire-the sincere milk-of the w6rd. 

Wbich h6pe— we hkve— as an finchor-of the sbul— bbth 
sfire~ana steadfast. 


In the following exercises, the verb love^ has the 
primarj, through all the modes and tenses. 

Indicative Mode, 

I I6ve, I do 16ye, I am Uving. 

I I6ve not, I db not-16ve. 

1 16Yed, I did ICve, I was 16ying. 

I did not-l6ve, I wks not-l6ving. 

I have I6yed, I hkye*been 16Ying. 

I hkve not-16ved. 

I had 16Ted. 

I hkd not-16Yed, I hkd not-been 16Ting. 

I shall 16Ye, I will 16ye. 

I shill not'-16Ye. 

I shkll-haye 16ved. 

I shkll not-haye 16Ted. 

Imperative Mode. 

IM me-16Te, l^t us-16ve, \hi them-16ve. 
L^ me not-'16ve, I6ye not, db not-16ve. 

Potential Mode. 

I may 16Ye, I can 16ye, I mkybe 16Ying. 

I mky not"16ve. 

I might 16ye. 

I might not-be 16ying. 

I might-have I6ved. 

I might not-haye I6yedi 



Indicative Mode* 

I am 16ved, I was 16yecU 
I shMl-be 16yed. 
I hkd not-been 16Te<L 
1 will not"be 16Ted. 

Imperative Mode. 

L^t me-be 16ved. 
L^t them-be 16ved. 
L^t him not-be 16ved, 
L^t them not-be 16Ted. 

Potential Mode. 

I m^y-be 16ved, I ckn-be I6ved, I miist-be 16ved. 
T mkj not-be 16Ted, I cknnot-be 16Te:i, I miist not-be 

I might-be 16ved. 

I mky-have been 16yed. 

I must not-haye been I6yed« 

I w5uld-haye been 16yed. 

I should not-haye been I6yed« 

Interrogative Form. 

L6ye I ? do 1 16ye ? am 1 16ying ? is he 16ying? 

L6ve I not ? db I not-16ye ? 

Did 1 16ye ? 

Hkd I not-16yed ? 

ShaU I I6ve ? shUl I not-16ve ? 

Do I-n^ver 16ve ? did I ^ver-16ye ? 

Shall I-n^yer 16ye ? 

Shall I-n^ver-be 16ved? 


The adverb of quality or manner talvcs the 

He r^ads-corr^ctly. 
He Iiye8-h6ne8tly. 
She wMks-gfr^cefullv. 


The siin— shfnes-brfghtly. The s6n— is shfning-brfghtly. 

When an adjective is used as an adverb, it takes 
the primary. 

It brbke-sh6rt. It was t^mpered-brfttle. 

It felt-s6ft. It was rblled-sm6oth. 

It sbld-hlgh. It is pronbunced-16ng. 

The adjective or adverb takes the primary, 
when modified by an adverb. 

He is-v6ry courageous. It is-tr61y sublfme. 
She is-s6 beautiful. She is-^ways gr&ceful. 

They are-t6o servile. He is-s^ldom h&ppy. 

He rides-v6ry Awkwardly. She w^pt-m6st bftterly 
She sinffs-s6 sweetly. He kcted-l^ss wisely. 

He r^aas-t6o f6rmally. She spbke-v^ry sh&rply. 

Adverbs unaccented and under the Secondare/ and 
Tertiary — the Secondary marked, 

Ctirse not-the kfng, nb, n6tTn thy th6ught. 

A'varice— is nbt commendable. 

The breast— which is never pafned-'can n^ver-be 

Th6se things— which proc^ed'but oFthe mouth, come 
f6rth-from the heArt. 

We oiight— to give-the m6re lamest h^ed. 
Thoii Lbrd—art m6st hfgh— for evermbre. 
We oiight— to ob^y G6d— rktherthan m&n. 
Th^re— the wicked— cease-from trofibling. 
There was miich w&ter-there. 
There w^nt up— a mlst~from the ^arth. 

And Gbd— hath s^t s6me-in the church, first ap6stle8, 
secondly pr6phets, thirdly te&chers, sifter that^nlracleSy 
th^n glfts-of healing, h^fps, g6yemments, diy^sities^of 


Ekrth-to 6arth— and diist-to ddst : 
H^e"-the ^vil-and the jiist, 
H^re"-the y6uthful-and the 61d, 
H^re—the f^arful-and the b6ld, 
H^e'^he mitron-and the m^d 
In bne sflent bM^'are l&id. 

Adverbs under the Primary. 

A triie frIend~~unb5soms freely, adidses justly, assists 
re&dily, adventures b61dly, takes kll p&tiently, defends 
r^solutelyand contlnues-a friend unchangeably. 

He shall jiidge-the people rfghteously. 
Cdrsed-be he"that smiteth-his neighbour-secretly. 
C6mmon calkmities—fkll he4vily~upbn-the vicious. 
H6-"who wklketh Uprightly— wMketh-siirely. 
Assiiredly— thy sbn Solomon— shall r^ign. 
Certainly— this— was a rfghteous mkn« 
Almost— thou persu&dest me— to b^-a Christian, 
Cklm-and serine— you indolently sit. 
I knbw not— h6w-to insvrer-the dem&nd. 
On— they mbve— indfssolubly flCrm, 

You should s^ek-afber knbwledge stefidily, patiently, 
and persev^ringly. 


The noun, adjective, adverb, or phrase equiva- 
lent, when preceded by the infinitive, takes the 

To fear-G6d. To study-dfligently. 

To Ibve-vlrtue. To live-h&ppily. 

To hkte-vfce. To avbid-affect&tion. 

To infbrm-the ignorant. To pursiie-an h6norable cburse. 
To Ibve-the virtuous. To uve-a religious life. 
To sekrch-the scriptures. To dica trdnquil d^th. 

When the infinitive is an object, a cause, or an 
end, it takes the primary. 

He r^ads-to l^am. They des^rved-to be I6ved. 

She Ibves-to stfidy. They Ibved-to be h&ppy . 

They delight-to pl&y. I kn^w them-to 16ve them. 


To fe^ G6d--is the beginning-of wisdom. 
To prjlctise vfrtue"-is the sure wayto I6ve it. 

To instruct-the Ignorant, relieve-the n6edy, comfbrt- 
the afflfcted, are d^ties^-that fdll-in our wkj— Mmost 
6very daj-of our lives. 

To plky-with imp6rtant truths, to disturb—the repose- 
of established tenets, to subtilize obj6ctions~~and eliide 
pr6of, is t6o often—the spbrt-of youthful v&nity— of 
which— matiirer exp^ence— c6mmonly repents. 

The object or adjunct of time, place, cause, &c., 
takes the primary, when immediately following 
the verb. 

He spbke-an or&tion. They clbud-their br6ws. 
He lekmed-a lesson. He wrbte-to his Mends, 

She siing-an dnthem. She mbumed-a I6ver. 

They live-in L6ndon. They skil-by st^am. 
He ckme-from Sp^n. He arrived-y^sterday. 
She gbes-to America. She leaves-to m6rrow. 

The pr6digal— rbbs-his h^ir— the miser— r6b8 himself. 

Hesebmeth-the 8c6mers— but giveth gr^ce— to the 16wly. 

E'vil communications— corrupt g6od manners. 

Dr6wsiness— shall cl6the-a mkn— with r%s. 

If his 86n ^k br^ad— will he give him-a st6ne ? if he ksk- 
a fish— will he give him-a s^pent ? 

When the object of the verb, or any of its 
adjuncts, immediately precede, the verb takes the 

The sun- his cheerful light-withdraw. 
And &11 Ol^pus— to its centre"sh6ok. 
Sh^with extended ^ms— his kid-implores. 
Swfft— dbwn-the pr4cipice-of time— it g6es. 
Through hCm— the rdys-of r6yal bbunty^^Vrwa, 


In simple propositions the predicate takes the 

Alexknder— w^pt. Mkn— is mdrtal. 

''EHoquence—^nimates. Delkys—are dangerous. 

Exkmple— teaches. To err—is human. 

With the Ap6thecarie8— Gbld— is S61 ; Silyer, Luna ; 
Quicksilver, MiSrcury ; Cbpper, V^nus ; ^Iron, M^s ; 
Tin, Jupiter ; and L^ad—is Saturn. 

From Ikw— arfses seciirity; from security, inquiry; 
from inquiry, kn6wledge ; and from knbwledge, p6wer 

Btisiness sweetens pleasure— as labour sweetens r6st. 
And freedom shrfek'd—as Kosciusko f611. 

The wky— was 16ng, the wind— was c6ld, 
The minstrel— was inflrm-and 6ld. 

The ^nd-of the commkndments— is ch^ty. 
Trdth— is the b&sis-of ^cellence. 
O'rder— is the Hfe-of business. 

The modifier of the predicate takes the primary 

Beauty— is but-a viin-a fleeting gbod, 
A shfning glbss— that fkdeth suddenly, 

A fl6wer— that dies— when dlmost-in the biid, 
A brittle glkss— that br^aketh presently. 

All nature— is but irt— unknbwn-to th^e, 

All chknce— direction— whfch-thou cslnst not-s^, 

All discord— hdnnony—nbt underst6od,' 

All p&rtial evil— universal gbod. 

Wh6— hath measiu*ed-the waters— in the h6llow-of his 
hknd, and meted out-h^aven— with the sp&n, and com- 
prehended-the dtist-of the earth— in a m^ure, and 
w^ighed-the m6untain8— in sc&les, and the hills— in a 
b&Iance ? 

It is h6— that sitteth— upon the cfrcle-of the ^arth, and 
the inhabitants therebf-are-as grasshoppers ; that stretch- 
eth out-the heavens— as a ciiitain, and spr^deth them* 


but— as a ttnt-to dw4U in ; that bringeth-the pr(nces-to 
n6tliing, he myteth-the Judges-of the earth— as vanity. 
He shall feed-his flock— like-a shepherd, he shall 
gkther-the Idmbs— with his ^ms, and ckrry them-in his 
bosom, and gently— l^ad those^-that krerwith y6ung. 

The predicate, or its assertive particle, when 
inverted, takes the primary. 

To the perverse— the b4st gifts-of G6d— aregiven-in v&in. 

Sw4et— is the breath-of m6m. 

Gr^at— is £KlLna~of the Ephi^ians. 
The r&inbow— how b4autiful4t is. 
How completely— his pkssion— has blfnded him. 
But redder still— these fires— shall gl6w. 

Upbn-thy m6ther's kne^, a n^w-bom child, 

WAeping-thou skt'st, whilst kll a^^und thee— smfled ; 

So live- that sinking-into death's 16ng sl^p, 

C^m— thou mky'st smile, whilst kll arbund thee-w^ep. 

By f6reign h^nds— thy d^ng ^yes— were cl6sed, 
By f6reign hknds— thy decent limbs— comp6sed. 
By f6reign hknds— thy humble grkve— ad6rned. 
By str^gers h6nored— and by strangers— m6umed. 


Wh^n-do you gb-to L6ndon ? do you gb-to Pfiris ? 
Whether-do you gb"to P&ris— or to L6ndon ? 
Did he nbt iny61ye himself-by his own imprddence ? 
Why judge you-s!r— so hirdly-of the d^ad? 
Can thy spirit w6nder— a gr^at man— should decline ? 
Do the perf^ctions-of the Almighty— lie dormant ? 
Does he possess them— as if-he possessed them nbt ? 
A're they notT^ther-in continual Exercise ? 

The first inquiry-of a r&tional being— shbuld be, whb 
m^e me ? the second, wh^-was I mkde ? whb-was my 
cre&tor ? and whkt— is his will ? 

King Agrlppa, bellevest thbu-the pr6phet8 ? 
I kn6w— thkt thou bellevest. ^^ 


Scorching 6very kfngdom— for the mkn""who has the 
I6ast cbmfort-in Iffe, Wh^re is he-to be f6und ? In the 
r6yal P&lace. Whkt! his m&jesty ? Yes : especially—if 
he be de8p6tic. 

Wh6 is it* said the American chief-to the Brftish 
gbvernor, wh6 is it—that c&uses this river— to rise-in the 
mgh mbuntains— and to empty itselHnto the 6cean ? 
Wh6 is it— that c&uses-to blb^v — the 16ud winds-of 
wluter ; and that c&lms them agkin-in siimmer ? Wh6 
is it— that r^ars up-the shkde-of th6se 16fty fbrests— and 
blasts them-with the lightning— at his pleasure ? 

The s&me being— who gkve to ybu-a c6untry— on the 
6ther side-of the w&ters— and gkve bm^s-to us— and by 
this title— we will defend it. 


How mysterious- are the wkys-of Pr6vidence ! 

Oh ! the gr^at-and mfehty f6rce-of trdth, which so 
e&sily— supp6rts itself— agkmst-^-the wit, cr^ft, and Art- 
ful designs-of min. 

What a plece-of wbrk— is mSn ! how infinite-in facul- 
ties ; in fbrm-and mbving— how expr^ss-and ^mirable; 
in Action- how like-an dngel ; in apprehension- how like- 
a g6d. 

Hbw^s the g61den city-sp6iled ? hbwdoth the city- 
sit s61itary— that was fdll-of people? hbwis she becbme" 
a widow ? OHhat I hkd-the wings-of a d6ve— that 1 
might flee aw&y— and b^-at rest. 

Oh ! Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest-the pr6phets 
and st6nest them-which are sent-unto the^, how 6ften- 
would r have gkthered-thy children together— as a hen 
doth g^ther-her chickens— iinder-her wings, ^d-ye 
wouiy not ? 

Oh death ! wh^re-is thy sting ? bh gr&ve ! wh^e-is 
thy victory? 

Whkt-in me~*is dirk, 
Illiimine ; whkt— is Ibw, r&ise-and supp6rt. 

These— are thy gl6rious wbrks— Pkrent-of g6od ! 
AI mighty— thine-this-universal frkme. 



Article and Pronoun unaccented. 

Give him-a pl&te, a knife—and an &pple. 
Give her-the p4n-and the knffe—the ink-and the p&per. 
Thou kn6west not— that thy br6ther— is thy rival. 
Though he t6ld you— he had n6 right-to tell you. 
In sbrrow—shalt thou ^t of it— ^ the dkys-of thy life. 
Let their eyes— be 6pen, and— let their ^ars— be att^nt. 
K^ep-thy tSngue-from ^vil, and thy llps-from spiking 
I s6ught-the Lbrd, and he h^ard me, knd— he delivered 
me-from Sll-my f§ars. 

Pronouns under the Tertiary accent. 

She is-a chfld-of ours. He is-a s6n-of hers. 
I am nbt-hfgh minded. I have nb pr6ud lobks. 

I can see-liis pride— peep-thr6ugh-each pkrt-of him. 
I k^pt myself-frbm-mine iniquity. 

Dkys-of my yoiith— ye have glided aw&y, 
Hkirs of my youth— ye are &6sted-and grdy, 
E'yes-of my yoiith— your k^n sight— is no m6rey 
Ch4eks-of my youth— ye are furrowed-all 6'er. 

Pronouns under the Secondary accent, 

S16ep— image-of thy fiither, sl^p-my bby ; 
No lingering hbur-of 86rrow— shall be thine. 
No sign— that rends-thy father's h^art-and mine. 

I— am the w^y, the trdth, and the life. 
To whbm— mdch— is given— of him— mdch— will"be 

I I6ve— ICnd-have 86me cduseHo Ibve— the ^arth, 
Sh^— is my Maker's creature— therefore g6od, 

She— is my m^thet— fbr-she gkve me-birth, 
Sh|— is my tender nurse— she gives me f6od ; 

But— whkt's a creature— Lbrd—compkred-\nth th^, 

Or whkt'fi-my m6ther— or my niirse-to me. 


Pronouns under the Primary accent, 

I mys^— will knswer-for his 16yalty, 

I 8t4nd-i;o koswer th6e— or knj h^— the pr6ude8t-of 

thy sbrt. 
N6body~16ves hfm-~who I6ve8-5nly hims^. 
Exklt h6r— and sh^— shall prombte th6e. 

Whktsoever-ye w6uld— that m^n-^hould d5"unto y6ti, 
6ven so—dbninto th^m for this— is the l^wand the 

And N&than— skid-unto'D^vid— Th6irart the mka. 

The d^iy—is thfne— and the night— is thine. Thfne— O 
Lbrd— is the greatness— the p6wer— and the gl6ry ; thine— 
is the kingdom. 

I prdy-tbr them, I pr&y— nbt-for the w6rld— but for 
them-which thbu— hast gfveh me ; for th^y— are thfne. 
And ^ mine— are thine, and thine— are mine ; and I— am 
gldrifiednn them. 


Prepositions unaccented, and under the Tertiary 4 

To fdwn, to cr6uch, to w&it, to ride, to run. 
To sp^nd, to give, to w&nt, to be und6ne. 

By l^nd, by wdtei — they ren^w^he ch^ge. 
At the sraue-of a frlena— or the sc5wl-of a f6e. 
With a fire-in his h^art— and a fire-in his br4in. 
The p^ak-of the mbuntain— is shlning-in light. 
And the sigh-of the tr^es— and the riish-of the br^ze. 

O'er hills, o'er d^es, o'er cr&gs, o'er r6cks— they g6. 

Upon the h61y t^xt— that str6ws-the gr6and. 

Unto the bbttora-of the blind abyss. 

The inlschief-his h^t— is setupon— h^— willacc6mplish. 

I g6— to prepkre-a pl&ce for you; ^d, if I gb— to 
prep^e-a pldce for you, I will c6me again, and receive 
you-to myself. 

Prepositions under the Secondary accent. 

It is much belbw me— on his thrbne-to sit. 

To acc6mplish it— is f6r beybnd-his p6wer. 

He meteor like-*fl^mes l&wless thrbu^h-the Y6id. 


In a vklley—sw^et-with singing, 
Frbm-the hfll—and £r5m-i;he wdod. 

Art— from th^t fdnd— ^ach jiist supply— provfdes, 
W6rks-withbut sh6w-"and without p6mp—presides. 

Outofi^he s4me mouth— proceedethbl^ing~and cursing. 

Fear not— for ^ I— am- with thee. 

Thine eyes— are 6pen-up5n me— and I 4m not. 

The region- beybnd-the grdve— is not-a s61itary Iktid, 

I will rid you-but of^eir bondage. 

Prepositions under the Primary accent, 

I fight not— fbr— but ag&inst C^sar. 

I c4re not— who is In'-br-who is 6ut. 

I stobd am6ng them— nbt 6f them. 

We can d5 nbthing— against the triith— but f6r-the truth. 

Hast s5 much-wft— and mfrth— and sple^n-abbut thee, 
There is nb living- with thee— or wiJi6ut thee. 

Preach-the w6rd, be instant £n season— and 6ut of-s^ason. 
We have offended-ag4inst-the Lbrd alr^dy. 


Conjunctions unaccented^ and under the Tertiary » 

And swims, or sinks, or w^es, or cr^ps, or flies. 
And death— ckme s6on— and swift— and p^gless. 
She's m6dest, but^nbt sdllen, and Ibves silence. 
I called him— but he g^ve me-n6 answer. 
Neither Jbhn— nor J^es— has y^t arrived. 

Not a grban, nor a piin, nor a t^ar, 

Nor a grief, nor a wfeh, nor a sigh. 
Nor a clbud, nor a d6ubt, nor a f^ar, 

But cklm, as a slumber, they die. 

Conjunctions under the Secondary accent. 

T^ce h4ed-l^st-y^ fall ; or, l^st ye f^. 
Lbve not-sl^ep— lest— thou cbme-to p6verty. 
W^tch ye— and pr4y— l^t— ye enter-into tempt&tion. 


He was n6t only-hfanless— but— he was klso wise, 

Thbugh— he was learned— y^t—he was m6dest. 

Thbugh~he sidy me— y^t—will I trtist in him. 

S6 then—thdy—that drennthe fl^h— cannot please G6d, 

Unless— ye repent— ye shall &11 likewise p^risn. 

Fight—n^ithemfnth sm&U— nor ^^at. 

Ye shfill not-^at of it— neither shall ye-t6uch it. 

It is-the discr^t man— nbt-the wftty, nor-tbel^amedy 
nbirthe br&ve— who gnides-the couvers&tion—and giyes 
m^asures-to society. 

As-in the w&ter— fkce— Snswereth-to f6ce,— sb— the 
h6art-of mkn-to m&n. 

Let us n6t say— we keep the comm&ndments'of the 
6ne— when— we bre^^ the comm&ndments-of the 6ther. 
F6r unless— we observe b6th— we ob^y neither. 

It is-of the utmost imp6rtance to us— th^t"^e assb- 
ciate-prlncipally— with the wise-and the vfrtuous. Wh^n 
th^refore-we chbose-our comp&nions- we ought-to be 
extremely ckreful-TU regard-to the ch6ice-we mkke. 

In lending-my endeavours, therefore, wh^her-with 
gre&ter-or l^ss success, tbwards-thfe bbject, I triist— thJtf 
I am neither uselessly— nbr uosfHtably emplbyed. 




Glass"^is made'of sand"-or flint—and the ashes-of 
certain plants, which are made-to m^lt-and unite- 
by exp6sure"to intense heat. It is said— to have 
been disc6vered-by some merchants, who were 
driven by str^ss-of weather— on the c6ast-of S^ria. 
They had lighted-a fire— on the shore- with a 
plant called Kali ; and the sand, mixing'with the 
ashes, was vitrified-by the hfeat. Thls-f6rnished- 
the ^erchants-with the hint-for the mdking-of 
glass, which was first regularly manufactured— 
at Sidon-in Syria. England— is now mtich cfele- 
brated-for its glass. 

There are thr^e sorts-of fiirnaces 6sed"in 
making glass ; one— to prepare"the frit, a second- 
to work-the glass, and a third'to annual it. After 
the ashes-and sand— are properly mixed, they are 
ptitnnto the first furnace, where they are bilrned- 
or calcined— for a sufficient time, and become— 
what is called-fr it. This-being after wards-boiled- 


in p6ts~or crticibles-of pipe clay— in the second 
furnace, is fit—for the operation-of bl6wing; 
which is done— with a hollow tube-of iron, about 
Ihrefe feet^and a half 16ng, to which— the melted 
matter-adh6res, and by mfeans of which— it is bl6wn 
—and whirled-into the intended shape. The an- 
nealing furnace— is il8ed"for co61ing-the glass— very 
gradually; for— if it bfe exp6sed-to the cold air— 
imm^diately-after-being bl6wn, it will fall-into a 
thousand pieces, as if strdck-by a hammer. 



The fox-is a quadruped-of the d6g kind. This 
animal— is foiind— in almost'^very quarter-of the 
world. His c61our-is br6wn; he has a shdrp 
miizzle ; his esLrs— are er^ct'and pointed ; and his 
tail— is straight, and bushy, and tippcd-with white. 
His tisual residence— is a d6n— or large burrow, 
formed— under the sturface-of the ground, or in 
s6me-d6ep crfevice"of a rock. This— he seldom 
leaves-till the Evening ; and thfen— he prowls-about 
the woods-and fields-for f6od, till the morning. 
He feeds"on hares, rabbits, p6ultry, feathered 
game, moles, rats, and mice; and he is known— 
to be v^ry fond-of fniit. He rtins down-hares— 
and rabbits, by pursWng them— like a slow-hound. 
His Yoice— is a s6rt-of yelping bark. 

i^ssoNs. Si 

Although the fix— is very destructive"t6 poultry— 
and game, and sometimes takes~the liberty—of 
carrying oflf— or devottring-a lamb, he is of service" 
to mankind, by destroying— many kinds"of nox- 
ious animals. His skin— constitutes^a s6ft— and 
warm fur, which, in mdny parts"of Europe, is tised- 
for mtiffs— and tippets, for tlie lining^f winter 
garments, and for robes^of stdte. In some parts* 
of thecdntiaent, his flesh— is ^aten-as food. 

In many countries, and— in a special mannernn 
£'ngland, h6Btiiig*the fox— is a favourite fi^ld sport. 
G^ntlemen^on horseback— hdnt him-with sl6w- 
hounds ; and— he has'been known— to riln fifty 
miles, and after all— to save'his life, by wearying 
out*the dogs— as well-as the horses— and htintsmen. 

His various stratagems"for obtaining prey— and 
avoiding-his enemie9, have j6stly prociired for 
himi-^e charaeter^of c;£inniqg ; so that " as ctUi* 
oing"or craftyas a fox^'^has grownnnto a pro- 
verb. Many instances— of his having this qiHality 
in. gr^ perfection— are related. A fox— had been 
frequently chased, and always escaped— by appear- 
ing-to go over a precipice ; and— it commonly hap- 
pened—that s^veral-of the dogs, in the 6agerness- 
of pursiiit, went after him-and were killed. At 
last, on expl6ring^he place, the huntsmen— were 
so fortunate-as to discover— that the fox—had his 
den "-just iinder-the br6w":of the precipice, imd 
that— by Myi^g hold"of a strong twig~that gr^w 
Le^id^ it—with his teeth, he l^ad the iurt"-pf 


swinging himself-into the hole ; out of which, how- 
ever, he was Able"to scramble""at dny time— with6ut 
danger. But htlman skill—bafflesHhe ctinning-of 
the f&x. The htintsmen— cut 6ffi;he twig, and 
n^xt time— R6ynard-was purstied, he ran to cdtch 
it— as formerly, trtisting— that it was still there; 
but, of c6urse, he missed'his aim, and ttimbling 
down-among the r6cks, was mangled— almoslras 
milch— as if he had been-t6rn to pi6ces-by the 

The fox— is mentioned~in Scripture. Samson— 
empl6yed three hundred f5xes— to burn-the vine- 
yards—and c6rn-fields-of the Philistines. H^rod, 
the t^trarch-of Gdlilee, who beheaded J6hn-the 
Baptist, was c411ed-a fox— by Christ, on account" 
of his craftiness. And our Saviour— makes-an af- 
flicting alliision-to this animal, when he s4ys, " The 
f6xes— have holes, and the birds-of the air— have 
nfests, but the S6n-of Man— has not wh6re— to lay 
his h^ad." 

Thomson's Lessons. 



A fbx-and a gfiat, trdvelling together— on a very 
stiltry day, foimd themselves— exc^dingly tWrsty, 
when, 16oking r6und*the coiintry, in 6rder— to dis- 
cover-a place"nvh^rei;hey mijrht me^t"wiih water, 


they-at Icngtb-^ descried-a clear spring— at the 
b6ttom-of a pit. They both-eagerly descended ; 
and~having-sufficiently allayed-their thirst, it was 
high time-to consider— h6w they should-get oiit. 
Many expedients—for this purpose— were mtitually 
proposed— and rejected. At last, the crafty fox- 
cried oM— with gr&it joy, A thotight— has jtist en- 
tered"my mind, which-I am confident— will extri- 
cate us— out of-our difficulty. Do you, said he- 
to the g6at, only rear yourself-upon your hinder 
legs, and rest-your f6re"feet— against-iho side-of 
the pit. In this posture— I will climb up-to your 
b^ad, wh6nce-I shall be able-with a spring— to 
reach-tho top; and when— I am 6nce there, you 
are sensible— it will be very easyfor me— to ptill 
you out"by the horns. The simple goat— liked-the 
proposal w^ll, and immediately placed himself-as 
directed; by means of which— the fox, without 
mtich difficulty, gained-the top. And now, said 
the goat, give me-the assistance-you proposed. 
Thou old f6ol, replied-the f6x, hadst thou— but 
half as much wit-as b6ard, thou wouldst n^ver- 
bave believed— that I would hazard-my own life— 
to save thine. However, I will leave thee— with a 
piece"of advice, which may be"of service to thee- 
hereafter, if thou shouldst have-the g6od fortune- 
to make-thy escape: N6ver venture-into a pit 
again, before-thou hast w^ll considered— h6wto 
get out of it. 




The l^gth"of the largest lion-is between feightr 
and nine' feet; his tailHis ab6ut"f6ur, and his 
heightens about'fi^ur feet^and a half. He has a 
long-and thick mane, which grows-longerund 
thicker— as he advances-in years. The hair-of the 
rest-of his b6dy-*is sh6rt-and sin6oth, of a tawny 
colour, but whltish"on the b611y. The female-*i8 
about one fourth part l^ss^than the male, and 
without-the mane. The f6rm-of the lionHs strik-^ 
ingly bold-and majestic. His Idrge-and shdggy 
mane, which-he can erfect-at pleasure; his htige 
eye-brows ; his round-and fiery 6ye-balls, which, 
upon the l^ast irritation, seem to glowwith pecti- 
liar lustre ; together— with the formidable appeaar- 
anee'of his te^th ; give him— an aspect'of terrific 
grandeur, which'it is difficult, if not imp6ssible, 
to describe. His roaring-is 16ud"and dreadful; 
when h^d-in the night, it res^mbles-distant 
th6nder. His cryof &iger-is milch louder-and 

The lion— seldom attacks-any animal-6penly— 
exc&pt— when comp611ed-by extreme hunger, in 
which case, no danger— deters him. Butr-as m6»t 
animals-endeavour-to avoid him, he is obliged^ 
to have recodrse-to artifice, and take^his pi*ey-by 
surprise. For this purpose— he cr6uche5"on his 


b^Uy, in 86me thicket, where he watches— till his 
pr^ycomes f6rward; and then, with one prodigious 
spring, he I^aps upon it~from a distance-of fifteen- 
or twenty feet, and generally-sfeizes it-at the 
first bound. Should he happen"-to miss-his object, 
he gives tip"the pursxiit, and rettu'ns-'to the place- 
of his ambush, with a m&sured step, and there— 
lies-in wait"for another opportunity. His Itirking 
place— is generally— near-a spring-or a river, that- 
he may lay h61d-of the ^mals-which c6ine thither- 
to qu^nch-their thirst. 

It is obs^rved-of the lion, that his coiirage" 
diminishes, and his catltion-and timidity— are 
greater, as he approaches-the habitations-of m6n. 
Being acquainted-with the p6wer-of their arms, 
he loses-his 'natural fortitude-to stich-a degree, as 
to be terrified-at the s6und-of the htunan voice. 
He has been known— to fl^before w6men, and 
6ven children, and sMer himself— to be driven 
away-by them, from his lurking place-in the neigh- 
bourhood-of villages. His disposition's siich— 
as to admit-of a certain degree-of education ; aud- 
it is a well-known fact, that the keepers-of 
wild beasts-frequently-play with him, pull oM-his 
tongue, hold him-by the teeth, and ^Ven chastise 
bim-with6ut cause. It is dangerous, however, 
io provoke him-t6o far, or to dependmpon his 
timper— with t6o much-security. The lion— is 
fotlnd-in A'sia, and-in the hottest parts-of 'Africa. 

In Scripture— this animal— is sometimes-spoken 


of-Tus an ^mblem-of strength. Jacob"-compared- 
his son J6dah— to a lion, to denote—the fiture- 
cotirage""and poweirof his tribe. The devil— is 
said— to go aboilt"like "a r6aring lion, seeking— 
wh6in-he may devftur." And J^sus Christ— is 
st^led-the "Lfon-of the tribe-of Jddah," be- 
cause— he subdu^s-the 6nemies-of his chilrch^and 



A lion"by accident— laid-his paw— upon a poor- 
innocent mouse. The frightened-little creature, 
imagining— she was jtist going-to be devoured, 
bagged hard-for her life, ilrged— that clemency- 
was the fairest attribute-of power, and Earnestly 
entreated"his majesty— not to stain-his illtistrious 
claws— with the blood— of so insignificant-an ani- 
mal; upon which— the lion— very generously— set 
her-at liberty. It happened-a few days-after- 
wards, that the lion, ranging-for his prey, felh 
into the toils-of the hilnter. The mouse- heard- 
hisr6arings, knfewthe voice-of her benefactor, and 
immediately repairing-to his assistance, gnawed* 
in pieces-the m^shes-of the nfet, and, by dcliver- 
ing-her preserver, convinced him, that there is no 
cr^ature-sft much-bel6w another, but-may have 
it-in its power— to rettirn'^a g6od office. 




The tiger"-is 6ne"of the most beautiful, but, at 
the same time, one'of the most rapacious-'and 
destr6ctive"-of the whole animal race. It has—an 
insatiable thirst-after bl6od ; and, even-when satis- 
fied-with f6od, is not satiated"with slaughter. Hap- 
pily—for the r6st-of the animal race, as well-as for 
mankind, this-destrtictive quadruped— is not very- 
common, nor the species— v6ry widely diflftised, 
being confined-to the warm climates-of the east, 
especiaUy-I'ndia-and Sidm. It gfenerally-grows-tc 
a larger size— than the largest mastiff dog, and its 
form-so completely resembles— that'of a cat, as al- 
most-to indtice us— to considcrihe latter— as a tiger- 
in mhiiature. The m6st striking-difference- which 
is observed- between-the tiger-and the other ani- 
mals-of the cat kind, consists— in the different marks- 
on the skin. The panther, the leopard, &c., are 
spotted, but the tiger— is omamented-with long 
streaks— quite across-the b6dy, instead-of spots. 
The ground colour, on those-of the m6st beautiful 
kind, is yellow, very deep-on the back, but growing 
lighter-towards the belly, when it softens to white, 
as also— on the thr6at— and the inside-of the legs. 
The bars— which cr6ss-the body— from the back-to 
the belly, are— of the most beatitiful black, and the 
skin— altogether— is s6 extremely fhie'und gl6ssy, 
that it is mtich esteemed, and s61d-at a high price-" 


in alKho &u;tcrn countries, ospfeciallyChfna. The 
tiger— is said-by s6me— to prefer-htiman flesh— to 
that-of any 6ther"animal ; and-it is certain, that it 
does not, like many other"beasts"of prey, shun"the 
pr6sence"of man, and, farfrom dreading"his oppo- 
sition, fr&quently"s6izes him-as its victim. These- 
fer6cious animals— seldom pursiie-their pr^y, but 
lie4n ambush, and b6und upon it'with a surprising 
elasticity, and from a distanco'almost incredible^ 
The strength, as well— as the agility"of this animaJy 
is w6nderful: it carries off-a deer— with the greatest 
ease, and will even-carry oflf-a btiflfalo. It attacks* 
£11 kinds-of animals, except^the ^lephant-and rhi- 
n6ceros. Fdrious combats— sometimes happen— 
between-the tlger-:and the lion, in which—both* 
occasionally parish. The fer6city"of the tiger— can 
nfever-be wholly subdiied ; for neither g^ntleness- 
nor restrdint— makes any alteration^inits disposition. 




Let dogs— delight-to bark-and bite. 
For— God— hath made them so ; 

Let bears— and lions— gr6wl-and fight, 
For— 'tis their ndture too. 

But, children, y6u should n^ver let— 
Sdch-angry passionsTise ; 



Your little hands— were never made— 
To tear-^ach other's-^yes. 

Let love^hrough-all-your actions rin, 

And all-your words— be mfld ; 
Live— like the blessed Virgin's S6n, 

That sweet-and lovely child. 

His soul— was gentle-as a lamb. 

And— as his stature-grew, 
He grew-in favour— both-with man, 

And God, his Father, too. 

Now— L6rd-of all, he reigns ab6ve> 
And-from his h^av'nly thr6ne. 

He sfees— what children dwelHn 16ve, 
And marks them— for his 6wn. 



The common bear— is a h^avy looking-quadru- 
ped, of a large size, and covered-with shaggy hair. 
It has-a pr6minent snout, a sh6rt tail, and treads* 
on the whole sole-of its fo6t. It is a native— of 
nearly all the n6rthern parts-of Asia^and E6rope, 
and is said— to be foimd-in Ceyl6n-and other-rndian 
islands, and also— in some parts-of A'^frica-and Am^ 
rica. In northern climates— it is-of a br6wn colour ; 
in other parts— it is black ; in Norway— it is foiind* 
grey— and 6ven white. The black bear— confines 


itsolf-alinost entirely"-to vegetable food ; but the 
brown— frequently attacks lambs, kids, and feven 
cattle, and siicks-their blood, like the w^aseL 
Bears""are fond-of honey, and often-seek for it-in 
tr^es, of which-they are Excellent climbers, in 
spite'of their awkward appearance. The bear— is 
n6t"naturally-"a fierce animal; but it becomes—a 
v6ry fSrmidable adversary— when attacked, or when 
deprived-of its y6ung. 

In its habits- this animal— is savagemnd s61itary. 
It 6itherTesides"in the hoUow-of a tree, or sdme 
unfrequented wood, oriakes up-its abode— in those 
m6untainous precipices— that are so difficult'of 
access*to the htiman foot. In th^se 16nely retreats, 
it passes-several months-in winter— in a state"of 
torpidity, with6ut m6tion"or sense, and never quits 
them— till it is compelled-by hiinger— to search-for 
a fr6sh supply-of food. 

Although the bfear— is-of a siirly disposition, yet, 
when taken y6ung, it submits— in a certain degree^ 
to be tamed ; and— by being taught-to erect itself" 
on its hinder legs, moves abdut^to the s6und"of 
mtlsic, in a clilmsy-awkward kind^of dance. But 
no-humane person— could have 4ny pleasure— in 
lo6king-at dancing b^ars, if they considered— that in 
making them-learn-this accomplishment, the greatest 
crtielty— is practised, such— as sfetting-the poor crea- 
tures—on plates-of h6t iron. All-such inflictions'of 
suffering— for the sake-of m^re amusement— should 
be disc6uraged. 


In some parts'of the world, hfinting bears— is the 
chief employment-of the inhabitants ; and in 6very 
country"-in which-they are iFotind, it is a matter-of 
imp6rtance--on accotint-of their yalue. The flesh- 
of the bear— is reckoned-a savoury-and Excellent 
kind"of food, s6mewhat resembling-p6rk. The 
paws— are consMered-a delicacyin Rtissia, even-at 
the imperial table. The hams— are salted, dried, 
and exp6rted-to 6ther parts-of Europe. The flesh- 
of young bears-is as mtich esteemed-in s6me places- 
of Russia, as that-of lambs is— with tis. Bear skins- 
are made-into beds, covertures, caps, and gloves. 
Of all coarse furs— th^se filirnish"the most valuable; 
and when good, a light-and black bear's skinHs 
6ne"of the most c6stly articles— in the winter ward- 
robe-of great men— at Petersburgh-and Moscow. 
In Britain, bear skins— are ilsed-for hammer-cloths- 
for carriages, pistol-holsters, and other purposes-of 
that nature. For those articles, such as harness- 
for carriages, which require strong leather, that— 
made"from bears' skins— is m6ch-in request. The 
fat"of bears~is iised-for rheumatism— and similar 
complaints. The Russians— ilse it"with their food, 
and it is thoilight— as g6od"afl the best'olive oil. 
An 6il-"prepared from it— has been employed— as a 
means-of making hslir-gr6w. In Kamtschatka, the 
int^stines-of the. bear, when properly scraped-and 
cleaned, are w6rn-by the females"as masks, to 
protfect-the fairness-of their complexionsHrt)m the 
blackening influence^of the sun— when it is reflected- 


from the snow. They are also tised—instead'of 
glass'for windows. And the sh6uld^r-blade bones- 
of the animals—are converted"into sickles— for the 
ctitting-of grass. ^ 

The bear— is 6ften mentioned-in Scripture. Solo- 
mon— speaks-of a " fuoHn his folly "-as moreHo bo 
drfeaded— than **a bear— robbed-of her whelps." 
It was tw6-she bears— out of-the wood, that tore- 
forty-tw6-of the little children, who insolentlyand 
profanely— mocked Elisha, one-of God's pr6plieta. 
David— pl6aded-for being permitted— to enc6imter 
Goliath-the giant, because— he had sliin-" a lion— 
and a b^ar," that had '* taken-a lamb-out of-his 
flock." And to illustrate— the peaceable nature-of 
Christ's kingdom, the prophet Isaiah— has predicted— 
that the time— is c6ming, when " the cow— and the 
bfear— shall fe6d ; their young ones— shall lie down- 

Thomson's Lessons. 



As tw6 y6ung bears, in wanton mood, 
F6rth-is8uing-from a neighb'ring wood, 
Came— where th' indtistrious bees— had st6red" 
In artful cells'their Msclous hoard ; 
0*erj6y'd— they seized, with eager haste, 
Luxtirious— on the rich repast. 


Alarm'd-at this, the little crew-^ 
Ab6ut"their ears— vindictive flew. 
The beasts, unable-to sustain" 
Th* unequal combat, quit-the plain ; 
Half blind-with rage, and mad-with pain, 
Their native shelter-they regain ; 
There sU, and now— discreeter grown, 
To6 late— their rashness-they bemoan. 
And this"-by dear experience gain — 
That pleasure's— ever bought""with pain. 
So— when the gilded baits"of vice- 
Are placed-before-our 16nging 6yes, 
With greedy haste— we snatch-our fill. 
And swallow down-the latent ill ; 
But— when experience— 6pes"our feyes. 
Away— the fancied pleasure— flies ; 
It flies, but oh ! t6o late— we find- 
It leayes'a r^al sting-behind. Merrick. 



The wolf, in its external f6rm— and internal 
stricture, exactly resembles-the dog tribe, but pos- 
sesses— n6ne""of its agreeable dispositions— or tiseful 
propensities. It has, accordingly, in all ages, been 
mtich det^ted, and universally considered- as one- 
of the m6st savage'^ncmies-of mankind, that exists" 
in the animal creation. In countries— where wo! ves"* 


are niimerous, wh61e droves—come down-from the 
m6untaiiis, or out of-the w6ods, and join-in general 
devastation. They attack-the sheep-fold, and enter 
villages, and carry off-sh^ep, lambs, hogs, calves, 
and feven-d6gs. The h6rse"and the ox, the only- 
tame animals— that make-any resistance-to these 
destroyers, are frequently-overp6wered-by their 
niimbers~and their incessant attacks. Even man- 
hims61f-"on these occasions-4alls"a victim-to their 
rapacity. Their ravages— are always-most terrible" 
m winter, when the cold— is most severe, the snow- 
in the greatest quantity-on the ground, and food- 
most difficult-to be proctired. Wolves— are foilnd, 
with s6me variety, in m6st countries-of the Old-and 
New Continents; but their nilmbers— are very 
much-diminished-in Etirope, in consequence'of the 
increase-of population, and the extension-of agricul- 
ture. At one time— they were-an exceedingly great" 
nuisance-in Britain, and— at a still later period-in 
Freland, but in both countries— are now— completely 

Notwithstanding— the ferocity-of their nature, 
wolves— have been tamed. The natives-of North 
America, before the infrodtiction-of dogs, employed 
them-in htinting, and made them-quite obedient-to 
command. And"4n the East, they are trained-to 
dance— and play"a variety"of tricks ; but they ai'e 
almost always"foilnd-to be wholly incapable-of at- 
tachment, and, as they advance"in life, commonly 
contrive-to escape~to their native woods. There 


haye been-some instances, indeed, of w61ves— having 
been tamed-to an uncommon degree— by kindness- 
and humanity. A ladyin S witzerland—I^ad a tame 
wolf, which seemed"to have— as mtich attachment* 
to its mistress'as a spaniel. She had occasion-to 
leave home— for a few weeks ; the wolf^evinced the 
greatest distress— after-her departure, and at first— 
refused"to take food. During-the whole time^she 
was absent, he remained-much dejected ; and— on 
her rettirn, as s6on''as he h^ard-her footsteps he 
b6unded"into the room— in an ecstasyof delight. 
Springing tip, he placed-a paw— on ^ach-of her 
8h6ulders ; but the next moment— fell backwards— 
and instantly expired. 

The wolf— is repeatedly alliided to— in Scripture. 
Persons-of crafty, violent, and ferocious tempers- 
are compared to it : as— when it is said-in Genesis 
xlix, 27, that " Benjamin— shall ravin-as a wolf," it 
means— that the tribe-of Benjamin— shall be fierce— 
and warlike. When our Saviour-says, "I send 
you-f6rth— as sheep-in the midst-of wolves," he 
intimates— that his disciples, p^eable-and gentle, 
would be surrotmded-by wicked men, who would 
thirst-for their bl6od, and endeavour-to destroy 
them. He also— likens-false prophets— or teachers*- 
to ravenous wolves-in sheep's clothing ; denoting- 
that though-they appeared— and prof%ssed-to he 
harmless, yet— they had no-other view— than to 
make-a prey-of those— whom they pret^nded-to 
instriict. A nd the prophet Isaiah, when predicting-- 


the p6aoefal times-of the G6spel, mentions— thaf 
the ♦*waif-8hall dw611-with the Idmb;" that is, 
men-of fierce"and sanguinary dispositions— will be 
si transformed— and changed— by the religion-of 
Christ, as to becSme-g^ntle-and tractable, and 
ass6ciate qui^tly-with th6se— whom 6therwise— they 
would havo'been incllned-to persecute. 



A wolf-and a lamb— w^ro— accidentally— quench* 
ing their thirst-together— at the s4me rivulet The 
w61f— st6od-t6wards the h6ad"of the stream, and 
the lamb— at sime distance-"below. The mischier- 
ous beast, res61ved-on a quS,rrel, fiercely demandi^ 
How dareyou"disttirlrthe wS,ter— which I-am drink- 
ing ? The p&or lamb— all trembling— replies, Hdw, 
I beseech you, can thait— p6ssibly— be the caise, since 
the current— sets-from y6u"to.m6 ? Disconcerted* 
by the f6rce"of truth, he ch4nges-the accusation. 
Six months-ago, says he, you rilely slandered me. 
Impdssible, retilrned-the 14mb ; for-I was n6t then- 
born. N6 matter; it wais your fiither, then, or 
s6me-of your relations ; and, immediately teissing- 
tho innocent lamb, he t6re him-to pieces. He— whb 
is determined— to commlt-a bad action, will seldom 
be-at a 16ss*for a pretence. 




The dew-" was falling fast, the stars—began-to blink; 
I hfeard-a voice; it said, " Drink, pretty creature^ 

drink I" 
And, 16okingiS'er the h6dge, befdre me-I espied, 
A sn6w- white mountain lamb, with a maiden-at its 


No other sheep— was n6ar, the limb— was all alone, 
And— by a slender cord-nif as tfether'd-to a stone : 
With one knee-on the grass— did the little maiden- 

While-to the mountain lamb— she g4ve-its Evening 


The 16vely-little maiden— was a child-of beaiity 

rare ; 
I watch'd them— with deUght; they wfere-a guileless 

And now— with ^mpty can, the maiden— ttirn'd away, 
But fere t^n yards-were gdne, her footsteps-did she 


** What ails thee, young one ?" siid she : " Why 

pull so-at thy cord ? 
Is it not-w611 with thfee? wfeU— both-for b^d-and 

Thy pl6t-of grdss— is s6ft, and grfeen"^ grass-canbe : 
Rfest, little-yoilng one, r^st, what is't*that dileth 




What is it— thou wouldst sfeek ? Hast th6u forgot- 

the day, 
When my father-fodnd thee-first-in places-far 

M4ny flocks— were-on the hills, but thou— wast 

6wn'd-by none, 
And thy mother-from thy side— for Evermore— was 


He took thee"in his arms, and m pity— brought 

thee-home ; 
A blessed day-for thee! then whither— wouldst 

thouT6am ? 
A faithful nurse*thou hast: the dam— that did thee- 

Upon the m6untain tops, nb kinder— could have 


Alas ! the mountain tops— which 16ok"so gr^en-and 

fair ; — 
I've heard-of fearful winds— and darkness— that 

come there : 
The little brooks— that seem-all pastime— and all 

When-they are angry, r6ar— like lions-for their 

Here— thou n^ed'st not-dread-the raven-in the sky; 
Ho will not-c6me to thee ; our c6ttage— is-hard by. 
N ight-and day— thou art safe— as living thing-can hh: 
Be happy, then,andrest; whatis't-thataileththee?" 





A stag, qufenching-his thirst"~in a clear lake, was 
Btrilick— with the beauty-of his horns, which he saw 
refl6cted-in the water. At the same time, observing— 
the extreme slenderness-of his legs. What a pity it 
is, said he, that so Hnca creature should be fiir- 
nished—with so despicable a set-of spindleshanks ! 
What a trtily-noble animal—I should be, were my 
legs— in any degree"answerable— to my h6rns 1 — In 
the midst-of this soliloquy, he was alarmed""with 
the cry— of a pack-of hounds. He immediately— 
bounded-over the forest, and left-his purstiers"86 
far behind, that he might-have escaped ; but taking- 
into a thick wood, his horns— were entangled-in the 
branches, where he was hMd— till the hounds came 
tip, and tore him4n pieces. In his last moments- 
he thiis-exclaimed. How ill— do we jildge-of our 
6wn-tr6e advantages ! The legs, which I despised, 
would have b6rne me-away-in safety, had not-my 
favourite antlers— betrayed me-to riiin. 



A hare, who-in a civil way— 
Comphed-with every thing, like Gay, 
Was known— by all-the bestial train— 
Who haiint-the wood, or graze'tho plain« 


Her care-was, never"to offend, 
And ^very croature— was her frifend. 

As f5rth-she went— at &.rly dawn. 
To taste— the d^w-besprinkled lawn. 
Behind— she h^ars'the htinter's cries, 
And-from the d6ep-inouth*d thilnder— flies : 
She starts, she st6ps, she pants-for breath ; 
She hears— the near approach-of death ; 
She doilbles— to mislead^the hoiind, 
And measures back'her mazy round ; 
Till fainting-in the ptiblic way. 
Half dead-with fear— she gasping-lay. 

What transport— in her bosom-grew. 
When first-the horse— appeared-in vievr I 

Let me, says she, your back-ascend, 
And 6we-my safety-to a friend ; 
You know—my feet-betray-my flight : 
To friendship— every burthen's light. 

The horse replied, Poor-honest puss ! 
It grieves-my heart— to see you-thus : 
Be comforted, relief— is near ; 
For all-your friends— are-in the rear. 

She nfext— the stately bull-implored. 
And th6s— replied-the mightjft lord : 
Since 6very beast-alive— can tell- 
That i— sincerely— wish you well, 
I may, with6ut offence, pretend- 
To take-the fr6edom-of a friend. 
Love— calls me-hence I m siich-a case, 
You know-all 6ther things-give place. 


To leave you-thtis""might seem-unkind, 
But s^e, the g6at"-is jiist behind. 

The goat remark'd—her pdlse-was hfgh, 
Her languid head, her heavy eye ; 
M^ back, says she, may do you-harm ; 
The sheep's at hand, and w6ol— is warm. 

The sheep'-was feeble, and complained"" 
His sides"^a load of wool—sustiined : 
Said— he was slow, confessed-his fears ; 
For hoiinds~eat sheep—as well-as hares 

She now— the trotting calf"address*d, 
To save-from death— a friend disfaress'd. 
Shall V, says he, of tender age. 
In this-important care-engage ? 
Older-and abler— pass*d you-by : 
How strong— are those — ^how weak— am 1 1 
Should I— prestime-to bear you-hence, 
Th6se friends'of mincTnay take offence. 
Exa(ise me, ihea. You know-my heart. 
But dearest friends, alas I m^dst part. 
How shall we all-lament ! Adi^u I 
For ste, the hoilinds— are jtist in view. Gav. 



The sw411ow tribe— have bills which are sh6rt, 
bi 6ad"at the b^nt, small-at the point, and slightly 
cilrved. Their tongue— is sh6rt, br6ad, and cl6ven, 
lihe nostrils-are open, and the mouth— is wide. 


Excopt'in one species, the wings— are I6ng, and the 
tail—is f6rked. They have sh6rt-sI6nder legs, and 
the tofes— are pldced— threfe bef6re-and 6ne behind* 
with the exception-of f6ur species, in wWch"the 
toes—are all"placed fSSrward. They have a pectiliar 
twittering Toice, flywith extreme rapidity, scarcely 
ever walk, and perform-all their filnctions— while^ 
they are-on the wing— or sitting. Their pltimager- 
is gl5ssed-with a rich ptlrple. 

To the martins, and other-sm&U birds, the swal- 
low— annoilnces-the approach-of birds-of prey. By 
a shrill-aldrming note, he summons-around him— 
all-his own species— and the martins, as soon— as 
an 6wl-or a hawk-appears. The wh61e band-then 
purstie— and strike-their enemy— till they expel him- 
from the place, darting d6wn-on his b^ck, and ris- 
ing-in a perpendicular line— with perfect secilrity 
The swallow— will also strike-at cats— while they 
are climbing-the roofs-of houses. 

The following— is an amtising instance-of the 
manner— in wKch— these birds— will s6metimes unite- 
to pilnish-their enemies. A c6ck sparrow— had got- 
into a martin's nest, while the owner-was abr6ad ; 
aiid— when he returned, the saucy intruder— put his 
head-out of-the hole, and peckedrat the martin— as 
ho attfempted-to enter-his own h6use. The p6or 
martin— was gr&tly provoked-at this injustice; 
but was unable-by his 6wn strength, to drive-the 
enemy-out, and to ptinish him. S6-he flew away— 
and gathered~a large flock-of swallows, who Ml- 


came^with a bit of daynn their bflls, and plastered 
tip— the hole-of the n&st, s6-i;hat the sparrow— could 
not escape, and died-for want"of food-and air-in 
the prison— to which— he was thtis confined. 

Early nn spring, when the s^r beams— begin to 
roiise'the insect tribes— from their annual state"of 
torpidity, the swallow— is seen— retiirning^rom its 
16ng migrations-bey6nd-the dcean ; and in prop6r. 
tion— as the weather"gr6ws warmer, and its insect 
supply-increases, it gathers str^ngth-and activity. 
The breed-of the swallow— 6ught-to be cherished, 
as the bird— is of infinite service-to mankind— by 
destr6yingTn^iads"of vermin, which would prove" 
very prejudicial— to the labours-of the htisbandman. 
The female- builds-her n^st- with gr6at industry- 
on the t6ps-of chimneys, in the eaves-of houses, or- 
in the cdrners-of the windows. She sometimes— 
br^dsi;wice a-year. The greater part"of thfese 
birds— qtiit-our island-at the latter end-of Sep- 
tember ; but s6me-are said— to retirerto h61es-and 
caverns, where they psiss-the winter— in a state"of 
torpidity. It is affirmed— that, in their t6rpid 
state, they can exist'^ven tinder water. 

There is a sp^cies-of this bird-in the East, called- 
the Esculent swallow. Its n^st, which it takes two 
m6nths-in building, is not only-edible, but highly 
esteemed'by Epicures, as giving-"an Exquisite 
flavour-to br6ths-and other m^ts. People-are 
not agreed- as to the matter-of which these nests- 
are comp6scd. They are thought— to coiuu&\r-^l 


B^a-wormB— or plants, or the 6gg8-of 6ther birds. 
They f6rm--an article-of commerce— in Chinay 
which is the pHncipal market~f5r them. 

The swillow-and the spirrow— are mfentioned* 
by the Psahnistr-as building-their ii6sts"and laying- 
their y6ung— in the sacred places-of G6d's house ; 
and he 16nged-to dw611 there— as they did, n6t 
merely— to g^t-a transient view— of the buildings-of 
the temple, as thfey did— when fl^ng-over them, 
but to inhdbit them, and enj6y-the blessings— which 
they afforded-io the pious. It is also-allMed to- 
by S61omon, in his b6ok-of Pr6verbs, when he 
says, "As the swallow-by flying, so-the cilrse 
causeless— shall n6t come ;" that is, a cilrse— which- 
we do not-des^rve, though pronoiinced-by our 
bitterest foe, will d6 us-no more hirm— than is 
done to us-by the swillow— flying-over our heads 
In Isaiah, zxxviii. 14, the klng-of Jtidah-says, 
'* Like a crine-or a swallow— s6-did I ch&tter ;" 
meaning, that the noise-of his complaining— was 
s&melimes— like the noise-of a swallow, qulck-and 
frequent, and sdmetimes— like that-of a crane, 16ud* 
and frightful. In the writings-of dnother prophet, 
the swallow— is referred to, where'Qod— is spoken 
6f— as repr6aching-his people— for being unmindful- 
6f his ddings, while the f6wls-of the air— attend-to 
the pr6per seaison-for migrating. His w6rds are, 
** Yea, the stork-in the heaven- kn6weth-her ap- 
pointed times ; and the ttirtle, and the cr^ne, and 
the awidlow* observe-the time-of their cdming;^ 



but my people~kn6w not"the judgment-of the 



With blde-c61d nose, and wrinkled brow, 
Traveller, whence c6mest thou ? 
From Lapland's woods, and hills"of fr6st, 
Where tapering— grows-the gloomy fir, 
And the sttinted jiiniper ; 
Wliere—the wfld hare""and the crow— 
Whiten— in surr6unding snow ; 
Where— the shivering huntsmen— t^ar" 
Their ftir coats— from the grim-white bear; 
Whfere— the w61f"iand n6rthem fox— 
Pr6wl— amcmg the lonely rocks ; 
And tardy suns— to deserts dr^ar, 
Give days-and nights— of half"a year : 
From icy 6ceans, where— the whales— 
T6ss-in foam-their Ushing tails ; 
Where- the sn6rting-sea-horse— shows* 
His ivory teeth-in grinning rows. 
Where, ttimbling— in their s^l-skin c6at. 
Fearless— the hiuigry fishers-fl6at, 
And, from teeming seas, supply 
The fo6d-Hheir niggard plains-den^. 





But wh^ should not-every man— make^what he 
wants-for himself, instead-of going-to his neigh- 
bours—to btiy it ? G6-into the sh6emaker'8 shop, 
and ask him— why-he d6es notinake tables— and 
chairs-for himself, and hats— and c6ats, and 6very 
thing-yse— which he wants; h^ will t^ll you— that 
he mdst have"a complete set"of j6iner*s tools— to 
make 6ne chair"pr6perly — ^the same tools— as would 
s^rve— to make hdndreds-of chairs. Th^n— if he 
were also— to make— the tools himself, and the nails, 
he would nefed-a smith's f6rge, and-an dnvil, and 
hammers : and, after dll, it would cost him-gr&it 
labour—to make-v6ry clumsy tools— and chairs, 
because— he has n6t been-dsed— to that kind'of 
work. Ifc is therefore— l^ss trouble-to him— to make 
8h6es— that-he can sMl— for as much-as will buy-a 
d6zen chairs, than-it w6uld be— to make-one chair- 
for himself. To the j6iner, again, it w6uld be-just- 
as great-a loss— to attempt— to m&ke shoes-for him- 
self; ands6-it Is-with the tailor, and the hatter, 
and all other-trades. It is bfest-for ffl— that each— 
should w6rk-in his 6wn way, and suppl^his neigh- 
bours, while th^y, in their turn, supply him. 

But— there are s6me rtide nations-who have 
v^ry little-of thfs kind-of exchange. Every man* 
amdng them— btlilds himsclf-a cdbin, and makes- 


cl6thes-for himself, and a can6e"^;o go-a-fisbing in, 
and a fishing rod^and h6oks~~and lines, and also 
ddrts-and a bo wand 4rrows-for htinting. besides- 
tilling-a little land—perhaps. Stich people— are all- 
mtich w6rse off— than the p6or~among iis. Their 
clothing— is n6thing— but coarse mats— or raw hides; 
their cabins— are no better— than pig-sties; their 
canoes— are 6nljr hollow trees, or baskets— made* 
of bark ; and allHheir tools— are clumsy. When 
^very man— does-^very thing— for himself, every 
thing— is badly done ; and a few hundreds-of these 
savages— will be-half starved— in a country— which 
would maintain-ten times"as many thousands-of ils— 
in mtich greater"c6mfort. 



On the grfeen banks-of Shannon, when Sh^elah— 

was nigh, 
No-blithe-Irish lad— was so happy-as I ; 
No harp— like my own— could so cheerily play, 
And wherever-I went— was my p6or dog-Tray. 

Whenat last— I was forced— from my Sheelah-topart, 
She said, while the sorrow— was Mg-at her h^art, 
Oh, remember-your Sheelah, when far, far away, 
And be kind, my d^ar Pat, to your p6or dog-Tray. 

P6or d6g I he was faithful-and kind— to be stlre, 
And he constantly 16ved me, although-I was p6or ; 


When the s6ur-looking folks~s^nt me-heartless 

I had dlways-a frfend—in my p6op dog-Tray. 

When the road— was so dark, and the night—wa? 

s6 c61d, 
And Pat-and his d6g-"were grSwn weary-and 61d, 
How sn6gly-we sl6pt-in my old coat'of gray, 
Andhelick'd me— for kindness — ^my p6or dog- Tray. 

Though my wallet— was scant, I rem^mber'd-his 

Nor ref6sed-my last crust-to his pf tiful face ; 
But he died-at my feet, on a cold- winter's day, 
And I play'd a lament— for my poor dog-Tray, 

Where now-shall I g6 ? poor, forsaken, and blind* 
Can I find one-to guide me, so faithful-and kind ? 
To my sweet-native village, so far, far away, 
I can nfever rettirn— with my p6or dog-Tray. 




There is also-mtich useful exchange-among dif- 
ferent nations, which we call-c6mmerce. All coun- 
tries—will not prodilce-the same things; but, by 
m^ans-of exchanges, &ch country-may enj6y ^1- 
the produce-of all others. Cotton-^would not grow 
hire, except-in a h6t-house : it gr6ws-in the fields- 
in America; but-the Americans— cannot spin-and 


#eave it—so cheaply-as we can, because— we have 
more skill-and better machines; it answers best, 
therefore, for them-io send us~the cotton w6ol ; 
and they— take-in exchange— part-of the cotton— 
made-into cloth ; and thtis— both wfe-and they— are 
b^st supplied. Tea, again, comes-from China, 
and stlgar-from the West Indies. — N6ither of them- 
could be raised here— without-a h6t-house; no more- 
can oranges, which c6me"from P6rtugal« But"we 
get all these things-in exchange-for knives, and 
scissors, and cloth, which-we can make mtich better" 
and cheaper— than-the Chinese, and West Indians, 
and Portuguese; and so both parties— are better 
6flF-"than-if they made every thing-at h6me, 
' How tiseful— water is-for commerce I The s^a"" 
s^ems-to keep— diflFerent countries-separate; bilt-for 
the p6rposes-of cftmmerce, it rdther-brings them- 
tog^ther* If there were only land— between this 
countryand America, we should have-no cotton; 
far the dirriage of it— would cost more— than-it is 
worth. Think— ho w many horses— would be wanted— 
to draw-such a load-as c6mes-in one ship : and then— 
they must dat-and r6st— while-they were travelling. 
But the winds-are the horses— which carry-the 
ship along; and they cdst us-n6thing— but to spread- 
a s4il, Th^n too, the ship-mires easily, because— 
it floats-on the water, instead-of dragging-on the 
ground— like a waggon. For this reason— we have 
<»mals-in many places, for the pilrpose-of bringing 
^odg-by water.-^One-oi; two. horses— can easily 


drawa barge al6ng-a canal"with a load""which 
twice as many-coilld not move, if it wfere"oii the 

What folly, as welhas sin, it is, for different 
nations'-to be j^alous'of one another, instead^of 
trading together"p6aceably, by which"-all"would be 
richer-and better off I But-the b&t gifts-of God"- 
are given-in vdin-ljo th6se"who are perverse. 



If there hh any thing— that makes ht!iman natures 
appear ridiculous~to beings"of superior faculties, it 
miist-be pride. They know so well"^;he vdnity 
of th6se imaginary perfections"thatswfell-the h&urt^ 
of man, and of those little superntimerary advan- 
tages-of birth, fortune, or title, which one man- 
enjoys-ab6ve another, that it miist certainly v6ry 
much-astonish, if it does not-v^ry much-divert 
them, when they see-a mortal— pilffed tip, and 
valuing himself-ab6ve-his nMghbours, on anyof 
th^se accounts, at the same time— that he is liable— 
to all'the common caIamities*of the species. 

To set this thoughtnn its trtie light, we shall 
fancy, if you pleise, that y6nder m61e-hill— is 
inhabited'by reasonable creatures ; and-that ^very 
pismire (his sh4pe*and w^yof life— 6nly excepted) 
is end6wed*with htiman paasions. H6w-should we 


smile— to hear one-give-an acc6unt-of the pedigrees, 
distinctions, and titles, that reign among them I — 
Observe-"how the whole swarm— divide-and make 
way— for the pismire— that passes along! You 
must understand— he is an emmet'of quality, and 
has better blood'in his veins— than any pismire-in 
the m61e-hill. Do you not~s^e— how sensible-he 
is-of it, how slowlyhe marches forward, how the 
whole rabble-of ants— keep-their distance ? Here— 
you may observe one— placed-up6n-a little eminence, 
and looking down— on a 16ng row-of labourers. He 
is the richest insect-on this side-the hillock : he has 
a walk-of half-a-yard"in length, and a quarter-of 
an inch4n breadth: he keeps-a htindred menial 
servants, and has— at least fifteen barley-corns-in 
his granary. He is now chiding-and enslaving- 
the ^mmet-that stands before him, 6ne wh6, for 
all that we can discover, is as good-an emmet'as 

But here— comes-an insfect"of rank I Do not you 
perceive-the little white straw— that he carries'in 
his mouth ? That straw, you must understand, he 
would not"part with— for the longest tract— aboilt- 
the mole-hill: you cannot conceive— what he has 
undergone-to ptirchase it I See-how the ants— of all 
qualities-and conditions— swarm-ab6ut him! Should 
this straw-drop out-of his mouth, you would see— dll 
this-ntimerous circle-of attendants— foUow-the next- 
that took it-up ; and leave-the discarded insect, or 
run over-his back, to come-to his successor. 


If ii6w-you have a mind— to se^-fche ladies-of the 
mole-hill, obs^rye first"the pismire"-that listens-to 
tlie ^mmet*on her left hand, at the sdmo time— that 
she seems~to turn awdy-her head from him. He 
tells this p6or insect— that she— is a superior being; 
that her feyes-^are brighter— than the stin; that 
life-and death-are"at her disp6sal. She believes 
him, and gives herself*^ thousand little airs*up6n 
it. Mark— the vanity"of the pismire"on her right 
nand. She can scarcely crawl-with 4ge ; but"you 
must know— she values herself-upon her birth ; and, 
if you mind, she spiirns-at ^very one— that comes- 
within-her reach. The little nimble coquette— that 
is rilnning-by the side of her, is a wit. She has 
broken— many a pismire d b^t. Do-but observe"- 
what a dr6ve-of admirers-are riinning-after her. 

We shall here finish— this imaginary scene. But 
first-of all, to draw-the parallel cl6ser, we shall 
supp6se-if you please, that d^ath-comes down— 
upon"the mole-hill, in the shape-of a c6ck-sparrow ; 
and picks up, withotit distinction, the pismire^of 
quality- and his flatterers, the pismire"of stibstance— 
and his day-labourers, the white straw-officer— and 
his sycophants, with ^1— the ladies-of rank, the wits, 
and the beauties'of the mole-hill. 

May we not-imdgine, that beings-of superior 
nature*and perfections, regard-all the instances-of 
pride-and vanity— amongj our own species, in the 
gime kind-of view, when they take-a stirvey-of 
those— who inhabi*^^ *hU earth ; or (in the language"^ 



of an ingenious French poet,) of those pismires— 
that people this h6ap-of dirt, which htiman vanity- 
has divided-into climates-and regions ? 




Hail, beauteous stranger-of the grove ! 

Thou messenger-of spring 1 
Now heaven"-repairs-ihy rtiral seat, 

And woods—thy welcome-sing. 

What time-the daisy-decks;the green, 

Thy certain voice— we h^ar ; 
Hast thou-a star— to gtiide-thy path. 

Or mark-the rolling year ? 

Delightful visitant I with thee— 

I hail— the tirae'of fl6wers, 
A»d hfearthe s6und-of miisic sw6et— 

From birds"am6ng-the b6wers, 

. TbQ sch6ol-hoy, wandering-through the wood-^ 
To pliick-iJie primrose gay. 
Starts, thy ctirious voice-to hear, 
And fmitates-thy %. 

- What time-the pea-puts 6n-the bloom. 
Thou fliest-the v6cal vale, 
An annual guest, in 6ther lands— 
V An6ther spring-to. hail. 


Sweet bird! thy b6wer— is ^ver gr^n, 

Thy sk^is ^ver cl6ar ; 
Thou— hast n6 s6rpow-in thy B6ng, 

N6 winteHn thy y&w. 

O I c6uld I-flj^, I'd fl^with th6e ; 

We'd make, with j6yful wfng, 
Our dnnual vlsit-o'er the gl6be, 

Compamons-of the spring. Logan, 



Who— is this beautiful virgin— that approaches, 
clothednn a robe-of light grfeen ? She has a gar- 
land-of flowers-on her head, and flowers— spring 
up— wherever—she sets-her foot ? The snow— which 
c6vered"the fields, and the fee— which was-on the 
rivers, melt away— when she bredthesnipon them. 
The young lambs— frisk-aboilt her, and the birds 
wdrble— to welcome-her coming; when they s6e her, 
they begln~to ch6ose-their mates, and to b6ild- 
their nests. Y6uths and mdidens, have ye s^en— 
this beailtiful virgin? If ye have, t^ll me— who 
she is, and what— is her nime. 

Who is this— that cometh— from the s6uth, thinly 
clad-in a light transparent garment ? Her breath— 
is hot-and stiltry ; she se^ks-the refr^hment-of the 
c6ol shade ; she se^ks~the cl^ar streams, the cr^tal 
brook, to bathe her languid limbs. The brodkg* 


and rlvulets*^;^ from her, and are dried up— at her 
appr6ach. She c6ol8"her p4rched lips— with berries, 
and the grateful acid*of frtiits. The tanned hay- 
makers"-welcome~her c6ming; and the sh^ep-shearer, 
who clips-ihe fl6eces-of his flSck— with his sounding 
shears. When she c6meth, let me li6— under-the 
thick shade'of a spreading beech-tree ; let me walk 
with herin the 6arly morning, when the d6 w-is y ^t- 
upon the grass ; let me wander with her-in the s6ft 
twilight, when the shepherd- shtits-his fold, and the 
Bt4r"of the evening— appears. Wh6 is she— that 
Cometh— from the south? Y6uths-and maidens, tell 
me. if you kn6w, wh6 fs she. and wMHs her name. 

Wh6 is h^— that cometh-with sober pace, stealing 
upon us-6nawares ? His garments— are r^d— with 
the blood-of the grape, and his temples— are b6und— 
with a sheaf-of ripe wheat. His hair— is thin, and 
begins"to fall, and the duburn— is mixed'with mourn- 
ful grey. He shakes"the brown nuts— from the 
tr^e. He winds-the horn, and calls-the htmters-to 
their 8p6rt. The gtin s6unds. The trembling 
partridge, and the beautiful pheasant fltltter, bleed- 
ing— in the dir, and fall d^ad-at the sp6rtsman's 
feet. Y6uths"and maidens, tell me, if ye kn6w, 
wh6 is he, and whatsis his ndme ? 

Wh6 is h^— that c6meth-from the n6rth, in fdr- 
and wlirm wool ? He wraps^his cl6ak— close aboiit 
him. His head-is b41d ; his beard-is made-of sharp 
icicles. He 16ves-the blazing fire, high pilednipon 
the hearth, and the ifinenqp^klingnn the glass. 


He binds'skates-to his fe^t, and skfms oyer thi^ 
fr6zen lakes. His br^th--is piercing-aDd c61d, and 
n6 little flower—dares-to p^ep"-above"the s6rface"o£ 
the gr6and, when hfe-is b^. Whatfever-he t6uches— 
iiirns-to Ice. Y6uths-and maidens, do you s6e him? 
He is c6ming upon us, and s6on-will be here. T^U 
me, if you know, wh6 he is, and what~4s his n4me« 




All fipstarts, insolent-in place, 
Remind us-of their v61gar race. 

As, in the silinshine-of the m6rn, 
A biitterfly, but n6wly bfirn, 
Sat pr6udly, perking-on a rose, 
With p6rt conceit"-his bosom gl6ws ; 
His wings, all gl6rious"to beh61d, 
Bedr&pt-with azure, j^t, and g61d. 
Wide-he displays ; the spdngled dew*- 
Reflfects-his eye8"-and various hue. 
His n6w-forg6tten friend, a sndil, 
Bene^th*his h6use, with slimy trMl, 
Crawls-o'er the grdss ; wh6m— when he spies. 
In wrdth-'hfe-to the gard'ner-crtes : 
" What means-yon peasant's daily toil. 
From ch6king weeds-to rfd-the s6il ? 


Wh wake you—to the morning's care ? 
Why— with n^w arts— correct"the year ? 
Why glows-the peach-with crimson hue? 
And why— the pltim's-inviting bWe ? 
Were they— to fe^st-his taste design'd, 
That vfermin-of voracious kind? 
Crtish th^n-the slow, the pilt''ring race ; 
So— ptirge-the garden— from disgrace." 
" What arrogance !" the snail replied ; 
** How insolent— is upstart pride ! 
Hadst thou not-thtis, with insult vain, 
Provok'd my patience-to complain, 
I had concfeal'd-thy meaner birth. 
Nor traced thee— to the scdm-of ^arth. 
For scarce nine suns— have wak'd-the hours. 
To swelHhe frtiit— and pamt~the fl6w'rs. 
Since I"iihy htimbler life-survey'd, 
In base-and sordid guiseTirr&y'd ; 
A hideous insect^ vile, unclean. 
You dragged— a sl6w^and noisome train ; 
And— from your spider-bowels— drew 
Foul film, and spiin-the dirty clue. 
I own-my hdmble life, good friend ; 
, Snail— was I bom, and snail-shall 6nd. 
And what's-a btitterfly ? At best 
He's btit"a caterpillar dr^st ; 
And all-thy race (a ntim'rous s^d) 
Shall prove-of caterpillar brfeed." 





Wh^n I was-a chfld, abotit s^ven years-of age, 
my friends, on a holiday, filled-my pocket— with 
halfpence. I went dir^ctly"toward-a sh6p— where 
t6ys-were s61d"for children, and b^ing charmed"- 
with the s6und-of a whistle— that I m^t-by the way, 
in the hands"of an6ther boy, I voluntarily offered 
him— fiU-my money-for it. I then came home, and 
went whistling— over the hotise, much pleased-with 
my whistle, but disttirbing-fill-the family. My 
brothers, and sisters, and cousins, understanding- 
the bargain-I had made, t61d me— I had given four 
times'as mtich for it— as it was w6rth. This— ptltme- 
in mind— what g6od things I might-have bodght— 
with the r^st-of the money ; and they laughed at 
me-s6 much— for my folly, that I cried-with vexation. 
My reflfections"on the subject— gave me-m6re cha- 
grin, than the whistle— gave me-pl6asure. This 
little ev^nt, however, was afterwards-of tise to me, 
the impression continning-on my mind ; s6-that 
often, when I was tempted— to bi!iy-s6me unneces- 
sary thing, I s4id-to myself, "Do not give too 
much-for the whistle ;" and s6— I saved-my m6ney. 

As I grew tip, came-into the w6rld, and observed" 
the dctions-of m^n, I thought— I m^t-^ith mdny, 
v^ry many, who " gave too much-for the whistle." 

When I saw 6,ny one-t6o ambitious-of c6urt- 
favour, sficrificing-his time— in attfcndance-on levees. 


his repose, his liberty, his virtue, and perh5ps"his 
friends, to attain it, I said'to myself, " This man- 
gives too much-for his whistle." 

When I saw anotter-^ond-of popularity, con- 
stantly empl6ying himself-in political bustles, 
neglfecting-his own affairs, and rdining them-by 
that neglect ; " He pays, indeed," said I, " too 
much-for his whistle." 

If I knew"a miser, who gave tip—^very kind'of 
comfortable Uving, alHhe pleasure-of doing good- 
to others, and the 6steem-of his fellow-citizens, and 
the j6ys-of benevolent friendship, for the sake of 
acctimulating wealth : " Poor man 1" said I, " joii 
indeed"-pay too much-for yoiir whistle." 

When I met-a man'of pleasure, sacrificing every 
laudable improvement-of mind— or of fortune, to 
mfere Sensual gratification ; " Mistaken man !" said 
T, " you are providing pain-for yourself, instead-of 
pleasure ; you give too much-for your whistle." 

If I saw one— fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, 
fine equipage, all ab6ve"his fbrtune, for which— he 
contracted d^bts, and 6nded-his care^rin prison ; 
" Alas Y* said I, " he has paid d^ar, v6ry dearfor 
his whistle." 

In short, I concMved— that great part-of the 
mfseries-of mankind-^re brought upon them— by 
the false estimate-^hey make-of the v41ue-of things 
and-by their giving too much-for their whistles. 





Tribe8"of the air 1 whose favoured race- 
May wander-through the reMms-of sp&ee, 

Fr^e guests-of ^arth-and *k^ ; 
In f&rm, in pMmage, and in s6ng, 
What gifts-of ndturer-mark-your thrr6ng— 

With bright variety I 

Nor differ less-your f6rms, your flight, 
Your dwellings— hid-from hostile sights 

And the wild haunts—ye 16ve ; 
Birds-of the gentle beak I how dear- 
Your w6od-iiote— to the wanderer's ear, 

In shadowy vale— or grove ! 

Far 6ther scenes, rem6te, sublime, 
Where swiin-'or htinter— miy not climb, 

The motintain-eagle seeks ; 
Alone-he reigns, a monarch there, 
Scarce- will the chamois* footstep— dare 

Asc^nd-his Alpine peaks. 

•Cthers— there are, that make-their home"^ 
Where-the white billows— r6ar-'and foara"^ 

Around-the overhanging rock ; 
Fearless^hey skim-the angry wave, 
Or eheltered-in their sea^beat cave, 

The tempest's fiiry mock. 

Where Afric's"'btirning rftalm— expands. 
The 6strich— hailnts-the desert sands, 
Parcbed-by the blaze-of day ; 


The sw5n, where Bortbern pivers"-glide, 
Thr6ugh-the tall reeds—that fringe^their tide, 
Flo^ graceful-6n her way. 

The c6ndQr, whibre-the Aii4es"t6wer, 
Sprfeads-his br6ad wing-of pride"and p6wer, 

And many-a st6rm defiqs ; 
Bright-in the 6rient realms-pf morn. 
All beauty's richest hties— adorn- 

The Bird-of Paradise. 

Some, amidst In^dia's groves-of palm, 
And spioy f6rests-"breatbing balm, 

Weave s6ft-their pendant nest ; 
Some— deep"in Western-wilds, ^}s(pl*y- 
Their fairy form-and pltipiage gay. 

In rainbow c61ours"drest. 

Others— no varied song-may p6ur. 
May boast-no ^agle plume-^o s6ar. 

No tlnts-of light— may wear ; 
Yet, know, our heavenly Father^guides" 
The l^ast-of these, and w^U provides- 

For each, with t^nderest care. 

Shall He not-th^n— th]^ guardian"be? 
Will not-his aid— extend-to th^e ? 

Oh I s^felymay'st thou rest !— 
Trilst-in his love, and e'en-Bhould pain, 
Should sorrow— tempt thee-to complain. 

Know, what He wills-is best. 


D 2 





It is uncertain-" whence"this quarter-of the world"" 
derived-its name. The traditions-of the Greeks 
say—that it was-from a Phenician princess, named 
Eur6pa ; and it may have heen— that stich-a person, 
leading-one-of the first migrations— from the west" 
of Asia, gave-her name— to that part'of the coast- 
on which-her followers-first settled, from which, as 
they sprfead-to the n6rth— and west, it gradually 
extended-to the whole continent. But the stibject— 
is involved'in the greatest obscurity, and is not'of 
so much impdrtance'^as to make it-w6rth while-to 
endeavour— to separate il"from the fables— with 
which-it is interwoven. 

In the c6urse-of the frequent wars— in which— the 
European states— have been engaged, they have 
often changed-their political boundaries ; but"there 
are certain grand natural features— which remain 
£lways-the same, and which— are quite sufficient— to 
give"a general idea-of the kingdoms, into which 
^his portion-of the world— is divided. Beginning- 
at the n6rth, N6rway"and Sweden— form-one gr^at 
peninsula, more-than a th6usand miles-in length, 
and bounded-on the north— by the Atretic ocean, on 
the westHby the Atlantic, and-on the sotith-and 
east— by the Baltic sea. This peninsula— is naturally 
divided-into two kingdoms— by a chain-of lofty 
mountains, which intersect it-from north to southv 


Russia"'-presents-the appearance-of a vast plain, 
extending-from the Northern ocean'to the Black 
sea, and-from the river Vistula'to the borders-of 
A^sia. Another great plain—extends-from the 
Vistula— westward-to the Atlantic ocean, and is 
bounded— by the Baltic-and Atlantic— on the north, 
and-by the Carpathian mountains, the Alps, and 
the river Rhine— on the south. This plain— compre- 
bends-the states of Germany, and the kingdoms'of 
Denmark-and H61Iand. France-and the Nether- 
lands— have a remarkably compact appearance, and 
present-a b61d frontier— on all sides. They have- 
the English Channel-on the n6rtli> the Atlantic 
ocean-on the west, the Alps-on the east, and the 
Mediterranean sea-and the Pyrenees— on the south. 
Spain-and Portugal— form-the second great penin- 
sula-of Europe, being surrounded-on all sides-by 
water, except— where'they are j6ined-to France— 
by the Pyrenees. The third gr^at peninsula— is 
rtaly, which is inters^cted-by the A^'ppenines, a 
branch-of the Alps, running-in a south-easterly 
direction— from the shores-of the Gtdf'of Genoa- 
to the Gidf-of Taranto. To the north-of Italy— 
lies-Switzerland, the highest inhabited land-in 
Eiirope, and pectiliarly fitted— for b6ing-the rfesi- 
dence-of a free, b61d, and warlike people. The 
banks-of the Danube— present an6ther-"of the gr^at 
plains-of Europe, comprehending-the chief part-ot 
the Atistrian empire. Southward— lie-the ancient 
countries-of Thrace, Macedon, Epirus, and Th^^i- 


Baly, forming-the European part-of the Ttirkish 
dominions. The cotintry-to the s6uth--has befen 
again established'into a 86parate state, retaining- 
the classic iiame-of Greece. 

The islands-of Eilrope—are-of at le^t equkl 
importance—with the cotlntries-on the continent. 
Gr^at Britain-and Freland— form-the most powerful 
kingdom-in the w6rld, Iceland"~is fdlhof interest, 
whether-we regardnts inhabitants, its history, ot 
its natural phenomena. The Balearic islands— were" 
as famous-in 4ncient, as C6rsica is-in m6d6rn times. 
The names— of Sicilynnd Cr6te— are dosely con- 
nected'with tbd histories df Gr^ece^and R6me. 

Bes)des~thef ntimerous arms'of the s^a, which 
have been-the highways"of the world— to seafaring 
nations— in all ages, Europe— boasts-of inkay n6ble 
rivers, which n6t only— f6rtilize-the countries- 
through which-they flow, but sSrve— to introdilce- 
the prodtictions— and impr6vetnents"of 6ther lands. 
Of thfese-the principalHlre-the Thames, the Rhine, 
the Tagus, the E^bro, the Rhone, the Danube, and 
the V61ga. 

The clfmate-of Edt'ope— varies— from the icy 
coldness"of the Arctic region— to the gonial sun- 
and refr^jhing breezes— of the cotintt^les-on the 
Mediteri*4nean. In gerieral"it is v6ry salubrious ; 
and, though 6ther regions— have been favoured- 
with a richer soil— and m6re luxtiriant prodtictions, 
n6ne of them— are possfessed-by a popul4tion-ld6 
tt&e, active, and enligfat^tied. In 66me periods— 

LBSSONfi^ 75 

both-of ancient— and'of modem history, the nations- 
of Europe— have held-ia snbjecikm— ahoost every 
other part-of the habitable world ', and, though" 
they have n6w lost mtidrof tbeb political power, 
yet-the moral influ^ice- still remains with them. 
So far— as we can read-the fdture designs-of Pro- 
vidence—from the present aspect-of affairs, it is- 
from the nations-of Europe— thf^it all great efforts— 
to enlighten-the nations— which still dwell-in dark- 
ness, aad-in the r^gion-of the shadowof d^th. 
m6st proceed. 




In the barn-the tenant cock. 

Close-to partlet— perdi'd'on high, 

Briskly ^rows (the shepherd's clock !) 
Jocmnd— that the morning's nigh* 

Swiftly-from the mountain's brow. 
Shadows, ntirsed-by night, retire : 

And the J^^eping stmbeam, n6w, 
Paints-with gold— the village spire. 

Philomel— forsikes^he th6rn. 

Plaintive— wh^re-she prates^at night ; 
And the lark, to m£et"the morn. 

Soars beyond-the shipherd'is sig^t. 


From the 16w-roof *d c6ttage ridge, 
S^e-the chatt'ring swallow—spring ; 

Darting— throiigli-iiie 6ne-arch'd bridge^ 
Quick— she cfips-her dappled wing* 

Now-the pine-tree's wdving top"* 
Gently greets"the in6rning gale : 

Kldlings— now begin-to cr6p- 
Daisies, in the dewy dale. 

From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd,. 

(Restless-till her task-be done,.) 
Now-the btisy bee's employ'd. 

Sipping dew— before-the stin. 

Sw^et, — ^0 sw6et, the warbling throng, 
On the white embl6ssom'd spray ! 

Nature's universal song— 
Echoes-to the rising day. 


F^rvid-on the glittering flo6d, 

Now-the noontide radiance— gl6ws, 

Drooping-o'er its infant bid, 
Not a dew-drop— decks-the r6se* 

By the br6ok-the shfepherd dines ; 

From-the fierce meridian heal— 
Shelter*d-by the branching pines,' ^ 

P^ndant-o'er his grassy seat. 

N6w-the fl6ck-forsakes-the gUde, 
Whfere unchfeck'd, the simbeams fall ; 



Sure"^;o f ind-a pleasing shade" 
By the ivy'd abbey wall. 

Echo-in her 4iry round, 

Over river, rock, and hill, 
Cannot catch-a single sound, 

Save-the clack-of yonder mill. 

Cattle""coilrt-the zephyrs bland, 
Where-the streamlet-wanders c6ol ; 

Or with languid silence— stand* 
Midway"in the mdrshy pool. 

Not a leaf— has leave-to stir, 

Nature's Itill'd, serene, and still ; 

Quiet-^e'en-the shepherd's ciir, 
Sleeping-on the heath-clad hill. 

Languid— is the landscape round, 
TilHhe fresh descending shower, 

GratefuHo the thirsty ground, 
Raises— ev'ry fainting flower. 



O'er-the heath— the heifer strays- 
Fr^e (the fdrrow'd task— is done) ; 

Now-the village windows— blaze, 
Bdrnish'd-by the setting sun. 

Now-he hides behind-the hill, 

Sinking-from a g61den sky ; 

Can the pencil's mimic skill— 

Copy-the refiilgent dye ? 

D 3 


Trudging— as the ploughmen go 
(To the smoking hamlet bound,) 

Giant-like—their shadows grow, 
Lengthened— 6'er-the level ground. 

Where-the rising forest-spreads" 

Shelter— for the lordly dome, 
To their high-btiilt fiiry beds, 

See-the rooks— returning home. 

As the lark, with varied tune, 

Carols'to the 6v'ning, loud, 
Mark'the mild resplendent moon— 

Breaking— through-a parted cloud ! 
Nowthe hermit-owlet- peeps— 

From the barn, or twisted brake ; 
And the bltie mist— slowly creeps— 

Ctirling-on the silver lake. 

Tripping through-the silken grass, 

0*er-the path-divided dAIe, 
Mark-the rose-complexion'd lass. 

With her well poised milking-pail ! 

Linnets, with unndmber'd notes, 
And the ciickoo-bird-with two, 

Timing sweet-their mellow throats, 
Bid-the setting sun— adieu. — Cunningham, 



America, or the New World, is iseparated— into 
two sub-divisions— by the Gidf-of Mexico— and the 


Caribbean sea. Soon after-"it was discovered, this 
vast continent— was seized upon~by several-of the 
nations-of Edrppe ; and each natioii—appears'to 
liave obtained-that portion of it, which was most 
adapted'to its previous habits. Th« United States, 
the greater part-of which—was peopled-by E^'nglish 
settlers, while they possess— the finest inland com- 
munication-in the world, are admirably placed— for 
intercourse-with the West India-Islands, and witli 
Europe. The Brazils— are well situated, on the 
other hand, for extending-the influence— acquired* 
by the Portuguese, for becoming-the emporium— 
between Eiirope-and the East, and for receiving- 
into their own soil, and rearing-to perfection, the 
rich productions-of the Asiatic islands, which the 
Portuguese— have lost-for ever. The United 
States— possess— 6very varietyof temperature-and 
of s6il, from the snows-and barrenness-of the Rocky 
Mountains— to the perpetual bloom-of Florida; 
while the Brazils, to the north-and towards-the 
Equator, approach— the climate^and luxdriance-of 
A^frica, and towards-the south, are able— to rear-the 
tea-plant— and the 6ther productions-of China. The 
Spaniards— in the Nfewas in the Old World, and 
in modern-a^ in 4ncient times, are the great pos- 
sessors-of mines. They spread themselves— along- 
the b£lck-of the Andes, as other nations— spread 
themselves-along-the valleys^of rivers, and live, an 
ae^'rial people, ab6ve-the clo&ds, haying bililt-their 
iSties— in the ptirer-and higher iregions-of the air. 


And, while the Americans—are placed-over against 
Europe, and the Brazilians—are advantageously 
situated-in the neighbourhood'of Africa, the Spa- 
niards, from Chili, Perti, the west-of Coldmbia, 
and Mexico, overlook-that vdst ocean— which will 
soon open to them— a communication"with China— 
an<l the islands— of the South Sea, and connect, by 
a n^w channel, the g61d':and silver-of the West— 
with the rich productions-of the East. 




'Tis the v6ice-of the sMggard — I heard him* 

" You have waked me-too soon, I must sltimber 

As the do6r-on its hinges, so he-on his bed— 
Tilrns-his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy 

head. ' 

" A little more-sleep, and a little more-sltimber." 
Thus he wastes half his days, and his hoilrs-with- 

out ntimber ; 
And when-he gets lip, he sits folding-his hdnds, 
Or walks about-s^unt'ring, or trifling— he stands. 

I passed by-his garden, and saw-the wild brier, 
Thethorn-andthe thistle-grow br6ader-andhigher ; 



The clothes-that hang on him-are tilrning-to rags 5 
And his money—still wastes, till he starves— or he 

I made him-a visit, still h6ping-to find- 
He had taken m6re care-for impr6ving-his mind ; 
He told me-his drfeams, talked-of ^ating-and 

But he scarce— reads his Bible, and n^ver lives 

Said I thfen-to my h6art, " Here's a Ifesson-for me, 
That man's^but a picture— of what^I might b^ ; 
But thanks-to my friends— for their care-in my 

Who taught me-betimes— to love working-and 




A dfervis— was j6urneying alone-in the desert, 
yrhen tw6 merchants— suddenly met him. " You 
have lost a camel," said he'io the merchants. 
" Indefed— we have," they replied. " Was he not 
bllnd-in his right eye, and lame~in his 16ft leg ?" 
said the dfervis. " He was," replied-the m^rchantii. 
■''Had he lost-a front tooth?" said the dfervis. 
" He hid," rejoined-the merchants. " And was he 
not— loaded-with h6ney"on one side, and wheat" 
iOn the other?" "Most certainly-he was," they 


replied ; " and—as you have seen-him^so lately, and 
marked him~s6 particularly, you can, in all proba- 
bility, conddct usHo him.'* " My friends,' said 
the dervis, "I have never seen^your camel, nor 
iver h^ard of him, but-from yourselves." *' A 
pretty story, trdly !" said^the merchants ; " but 
whfere— are the jewels, which formed-a part-of his 
cargo V* "I have neither seen-your camel, nor 
your jewels," repeated-the dervis. On this, they 
seized-his person, and forthwith htirried him*^ 
before-the cddi, where, on the strictest search, 
n6thing~could be found upon him, nor—could any 
evidence— whatever— be adduced"to convict him, 
either of falsehood— or of th«ft. They were then 
abodt— to proceed against him— as a sorcerer, when 
the dervis, with great calmness, thtis— addressed- 
the c6urt : — " I have befen mtich amused-with your 
surprise, and own— that there has been— s6m6 
ground-for your suspicions ; but I have lived long, 
and alone ; and I can find &mple scope~for obser* 
vilion, ^ven-in a desert. I kn^w— that I had 
crossed— the track"of a camel— that had strayed- 
from its owner, because— I saw n6 mark-of any 
htlman footsteps— on the eame route ; I knew— that 
the animal— was blindnn one eye, because— it had 
cr6pped"the herbage— only— on one side"^f its path ; 
and I perceived— that it was lame'in 6ne leg, from 
the faint Impression-^at particular foot— had pro- 
ddced-upon the sand; I concldded— thatthe animal— 
bad lost 6&e tooth, because— where verit had grazed, 


a sindll tuft*of lierbage~was left uninjured, in the 
centre-of its bite. As to that— which f6rmed"the 
burden-of the beast, the btisy ants^-infof med me— 
that it was c6rn— on the one side,, and the cltister- 
ing flies— that it was honey-on the other." 



The harp— that in darkness-and silence forsaken, 
Had sltimbered— while ages rolled slowly along, 

Once more-in its own native land— shall awaken, 
And p6ur-f rom its chords— alHhe raptures-of song. 

Unhdrt-by the mildews— that o'er it-were stealing, 
Its strings-in ftill chorus— shall warble sublime — 
Shall rouse— alHhe ardour-of patriot feeling, 
Andsnatch-abright wreath— fromtherelics-of time. 

Sweet harp I on some tale of past sorrow— while 
Still plaintire-and sad— breathes"the iii6ri»«riiig 
The bright sparkluig tear-of fond s;fmpathy— dwel- 
Shall freshen-the Shamrock— that twines the^ 


Sweet harp I o'er thy tones— though with fiSrvent 

We tolngle^a patriot dmile^Tvith a t^t, 


Not faiater-the smiles, not less pure—the eIn6tion,^ 
That waits"on the catise-' which assembles us-here. 

Behold— where the child"of affliction-and sorrow. 
Whose eyes— never gazed— on the splendour-of 

Is tatight— from thy trembling vibration-to borrow— 
One mildray-of joy— midst the h6rrors"of night. 

No more— shall he wander— unknownrand neglected, 
From winter's-loud tempests- a sh61ter-to find ; 

No more— a sad outcast, forlorn-and dejected,' 
Shall poverty add— to the w6es"of the blind. 

Miss Balfour. 


THE giant's causeway. 

This v&t coUection-of basdltic pillars- is in the 
<5oi)Lnty-of A^ntrim, on the northern coast-of Ireland. 
The principal-or grand causeway— consists—of an ir- 
regular arrangement— of many thousands-of columns, 
formed-of a black rock, nearly-as hard— as marble. 
These cplumns- are-of an unequal height-and 
breadth, several-of the most elevated— rising-to 
6pwards-of twenty feet. How deeply— they are 
f Ixed-in the strand, has n^ver yet-been ascertained. 

This grand arrangement— extends n6arly-tv6 
hundred-yards, as it is visible-at 16w water ; but 
how f4r beyond— is uncertain. From its declining 


appearance, however, as far-into the sea—as it can* 
be seen, it is probable— that it does not reach— 
beneath-the water— to a distance— equal to that— 
which is seen abore. The breadth-of the principal 
causeway, which rtins out"in one continued range'of 
columns, is in general— from tw6nty-to thirty feet : 
in some parts-it may, for a short distance, be nearly 
forty, and, at the highest part, it is not-m6re— than 
from twelve-to fifteen feet. The c61umns-of this 
narrow part— incline-a little— to the westward, and 
ferm— a^ slope-on their tops— by the unequal height" 
of their sides. In this way, from the head-of 6ne 
column— to the next above, a gradual ascent— ia 
made— from the fo6t-of the cliff— to the top-of the 
great causeway. At the distance— of abotit eighteen 
feet-from the cliff, the columns— become perpendi- 
cular, and the causeway lowering^from its general 
height, then widens— to between tw^nty-iand thirty 
feet, being— for nearly"a hundred yards— always 
above-the water. Throughout this length, the 
tops-of the columns— are nearly-of an 6qual height^ 
and form— a grand-and singular parade, somewhat 
incliningHo the water's ^dge. But within high 
water-mark, the platform, being washed— by the 
beating surges- on every return-of the tide, lowers 
considerably, and, becoming m6re-andm6re uneven, 
cannot-be walked on— but-with the greatest care. 
At the distance— of a hiindred-and fifty yards-from 
the cliffs, it ttirns— a little-to the &«t, for the space- 
of eightyor ninety feet^ and th&n sinJksHinto the 


B^a. The figure-of these columns—is generally 
pentagonal, or composed-of five sides, though some- 
have been fotind—vrith thr6e, f6ur, six, and even 
eight sides. Wh4t-is very extraordinary, and 
particularly ctirious, is, that there are not"tw6 
<Jolumns"to be f&und—in t6n thousand, which feither- 
have their sides— fequal-among themselves, or dis- 
playa like figure, yfet-^hey are s6 arranged-and 
combined, that a knife-can sdircely-be introdiiced- 
betw^en them, eithenat the sides-or angles. Their 
composition— is Mso—w6rthy-of attention. They are 
not-of one solid stone-in an upright position, but 
comp6sed-of several sh6rt lengths, nicely joined, 
ndt-with flat surfaces, but-like a ball-and socket, 
the one end-of the joint— beinya cavity, into whiohr 
the c6nvex end-of the 6pposite— is exactly fitted. 
The 16ngth-of the gt6nes-from joint-to joint-4s 
various : they Jlre-in g^neraWrom Eighteen inches" 
to two feet-long, and, for the gr&iter part, longer— 
towards-the b6ttom-of the columns— than n^aref- 
the top. Their diameter— is Hkewise-as different^ 
as their length-and figure; but'it is generaUy 
from fifteen-to twenty inches. 

CLAftKE'fi Wonderss 



From Greenland's icy mountaini. 
From India's o^al strand. 


Where Afric's stinny fountains- 
Rill down^their golden sand ; 
From many"an ancient river. 
From many-a p41my plain, 
They eall us-to deliver- 
Their land-from erroi^s chain. 

What th6ugh-the spicy brd^zes— 
Blow soft-oil Ceylon's isle. 
Though every prospect pleases^ 
And only man^s vile ; 
In vain, with lavish kindness, 
The gifts-of God—are strewn, 
The Heathen, in his blindness> 
Bows down-^o w6od~and st6ne< 

Shall w6-^who6e s6uls-ai*6 lighted— 
With wisdom-from on high : 
Shall we^^to men benighted— 
The lamp-of Hfe-^de^^ ? ; | 

Salvation ! 6h, salvation ! 
The joyful sound— procMiitt, 
Till ^ach rem6test nation- 
Has l^arn'd Messiah's iiam^. 

Waft, waft, ye winds, his dt6ry. 
And y6u, ye waters, r611. 
Till, like-'a sea-of gloi^y, 
It spreads-f]^om p61e-to pole ; 
Till 6'er-our ransom'd nature, 
The LambHbr sinners^slain, 
Redeemer, King, Creator, 
In bliss— retilrns-to r6jgn» Hbbeiu \ a 




Asia~-is distinguished, by natural divisions, into 
Central, N6rthern, S6uth-eastern^ and South- 
western Asia, Central Asia—is separated-by 
ranges of mountains'-into the middle, eastern, and 
western regions. The middle region—is the high- 
est, from which— lofty mountains— break 6ff-in all 
directions, and immense rivers— riln-to the east— 
and-to the we§t, or falHnto the icy sea, or-into the 
Fndian ocean. This elevated region-of sn6ws~and 
clouds— maintains-an almost unbroken winter— in 
the very neighbourhood-of the tropic. Central 
Asia— is somewhat softened"in its eastern division, 
where-the cold— is thawed— by the neighbourhood- 
of the sea, and the inland regions— are fertilized— 
by the waters-of the Amour, and sheltered-by its 
magnificent forests. The western division— is a still 
milder-and more fertile-region, as the ground- 
rapidly descends— and the sk^gradually brightens, 
tilHhe delicious valley-of Samarcand-and Bokhara- 
opens out, and displays-"its green meadows-and 
blossoming gardens, whose inhabitants, in the 
mildness-of their climate, lose-the Scythian cast-of 
countenance, and are alike— celebrated-for their 
bravery-and their beauty. 

Northern Asia, or Siberia, loses— by its northern 
exposure-and latitude, what it gains— by the descent- 
of the ground— t6wards-the icy sea; and winter— 


lingers round-the yeairnnthe recesses-of its woods*" 
and-in the depth-of its morasses, where the ice*" 
never melts : 6nly s6me fayoured situations*-enj6y- 
ihe benefit-"of a brief-and rdpid summer. Bttt 
even-in its tiniform desolation-rthere are shides^of 
difference, and the cotintry bey6nd-the Yenisei—is 
still more Siberian— than that— which is nearer-to 
Rtissia. It is thtis— that Asia-has n6 temperate 
climate: it is divided— by its central range-of 
mountains— between winter-and stimmer. 

South-eastern Asia, which is its warm*and tro- 
pical division, may be divided— into China, Fndia, 
and the rndo-Chinese countries. In China— the 
hills— retain-the c61dness-of Tdrtary, and the val- 
leys— unite-the warmth-of India— to the mildness" 
and m6isture— of theneighbourhood-of the Southern 
sea; and China— thtis furnishes, with every variety- 
of climate, ^ery variety-of prpdtiction. Japan- 
may be considered— as a smaller— and insulated 
China, surroilnded- by the Atmosphere of the 
Pacific, and therefore— pres^nting-the same range" 
of temperature, modified— by its vicinity*to th^e 
ocean. In lndia"bey6nd the Ganges, both-the 
animal-and vegetable worlds— assume^their largest 
dimensions ; this— is the native region-of the t6ak 
forest-and-of the flephant. Nature itself— is— on 
86 large-a scale, that ^very rangerof m6untains— 
forms-the boundary-of a kingdom, and ^very valleys 
constitutes-an Empire. This region, by the jtitting 
out— of the peninsula-of Malacca, forms-a connexion^ 


with the Spice Islands, which owe-Ubeh* luxtiriancer 
to their being placed beneath'i^he stin'of the equator, 
in the midst'of a b6undles8 ocean; and while, m 6ne* 
of their grftup, New Holland, they att&in almost— 
to the size'of a continent, their size-ns lessened'nn 
the isles of Polynesia, till they formHbut a single 
roek> or a bed-of coral-^emferging-from the waves. 
S6uth-western Asia, which oonsists-of P«*sia, the 
countries— watered-by the Tigris^and the Euphrdtes, 
Caucasus, Asia Minor, S^ria, and Aribia, may foe 
considered—the most temperate region-of Asia. 
The Tigris-and the Euphrates"Ti6 longer^water- 
thegardens'-of the king'"of the world. Thef&rests* 
of Lebanon—and Cdrmel, with the 6rchard8"of 
Damascus, the vines'^of the hills*of Jud^a, and the 
c6rn"of its plains, 6nce mnked-among the most 
luxuriant"^and most cultivated spots^of the earth. 
Arabia, farther-to the south, forms-a desolate 
contrast, stf ipped'^of dll vegetation— but the few 
palras^whioh indicate^the secret waters-of the 
desert; and its sterile uniformity-^is only inter- 
riipted-by mountains— which break-the clouds, re- 
tain^their waters— in the wells-of the rock, and 
form-upon their terraced sides^he gardens of the 
burning wastes'^around them. Thfee mountains, 
becoming frequent-and continuous— towards-the 
south* enclose-the Happy Arabia, where hills-and 
valleys, showers-and sunshine, produoe-a variety- 
of verdure, the reverse— of the arid expanse-of the 
sands. Douglas. 

LfiSSONS. 91 



Stay, lady, stay, for m^rcy'a uake, 

And heatr-a helpless orphan's tale I 
Ah I stire-my 16oks— must pHy^wakc I 

'Tis want—that makes-my cheek'sa pale* 
Y^t-I was 6nce-a mother's pride, 

And my brave father's hope-and joy ; 
But"in the Nile's proud fight"he died, 

And I-am n6w-an O^'rphan Boy. 

Poor foolish child ! how pleased-was I, 

When nfews"of Nelson's victory came, 
Along-the cr6wded streets-to fly, 

And see"the lighted windows'-flame I 
To force me^home— iny mother sought. 

She could not-bear— to seelny joy ; 
For— with my father^ life-'twas bought, 

And made me-a poor O'rphan Boy. 

The people's shouts— were long-and loud ; 

My mbther, shtiddering, closed-her ears ; 
" Ilej6ice] rejoice I" still crted-the crowd ; 

My m6ther— answer'd-with her tears. 
•* Oh I why do tears steal down-your check, 

Cried F, " while others— shout-for joy V 
8he kiss'd me, and in accents w^ak, 

She dLll'd me— her poor O'^rphan Boy. 


" What-is an O'rphan Boy ?" I said, 

When stiddenly— she gasp'd-for breath 5 
And her hjes cl6sed ; — I shriek'd-for aid — 

But, ah I her eyes— were cl6sed-in d^ath I 
My hardships since—I will not-t611 ; 

But n6w-no m6re-a parent's j6y-^ 
Ah lady I I have learnt too well— 

What 'tis— to be-an Crphan Boy. 

O were I""by your bounty fed ! — 

Nay, gentle lady ! do not-chide ! 
Trtist me, I mean— to earn-my bread ; 

The sailor's orphan boy— has pride. 
Lady, you weep : — what is*t-you say ? 

You'll give me-cl6thing, food, empl6y ?-— . 
Look down, dear parents I lo6k"and s^e- 

Your happy, happy, O'rphan Boy, 




Africa— is the barren region-of the fearth, both* 
as respects— the nature-of the soil— and the moral 
condition-of its inhabitants. The northern part* 
of this continent— bears-a strong resembIance"to 
Arabia, with the exception— of the valley"of the 
Nile— and the c6untries-on the Mediterranean, in 
b6th-of which-all the productions of temperate 


climates— amyerat the greatest perfection* These 
countries-are the stites-of Birbary, conslsting-of 
Mor6cco, F^z, Algiers, Ttinis, and Tripoli: the 
countries-on the Nile'"areE'gypt,Ntibia, and Abys- 
sinia. South-from the Barbary states-"stretches- 
the Sahara'or gr^at desert, which is 1,500 miles 
long, and 800 broad. The surface— of this immense 
tract"-of barrenness"and desolation—is sometimes 
agitated-by winds— like the wares-of the s^a, and 
travellers— are overwhelmed'by the mountains-of 
sand, which are raised— and driven along-by storms" 
and whirlwinds. Like the 6cean, also, the desert- 
lias many islands, called oases, of gr^at beauty-and 
fertility, some of which— are so large— as to supp6rt 
p6 werful tribes-of the natives. These oases— form- 
convenient resting-places— for the caravans, which 
transport merchandize— from the shdres'X)f the 
Mediterranean— to Central Africa. 

The interior— of the S6uth-of Africa— is almost 
entirely unknown; but— it is probable— that its 
generalappearance— resembles-that"of then6rth. On 
the coasts— there are some tracts-of frtiitful land, 
such as Upper-and Lower Guinea, the country- 
round the Cslpe-of G6od H6pe, and Mozambique. 
But the richest portion-of this continent— is along- 
the b^ks-of the Niger. Throughoiit-the wh61e 
course-of that mighty river, the land— is abtindantly 
supplied-with h^at-and moisture, the tw5 gr^at 
instruments-of vegetation, and is proportionably 
fertile*and prodiictive. But"we are still-very 



imperfectly acquainted'-with this region'of the? 
globe. It was 16ng-a problem'-among ge6grapliers, 
in what direction-the Niger fl6wed; which- was at 
lasir-eolved-by Milngo Pdrk, who, after eneounter- 
ing^the greatest fatigues-and dangers, discovered 
it-flowing g^ntly-^astward. It then— became-an 
6bject-of inquiry— into what s^a-or lake— it emptied- 
its waters. After many unsuccessful-attempts, and 
the sacrifice— of the livesrof several travellers, 
curiosity— has also-been satisfied-on this point— by 
Kichard-and RobertLander, two E'nglish-travellers, 
who foUowed-the c6urse-of the river— from Central 
Africa— to its termination— in the Gdlf-of -Guinea. 
The practical results of this discovery— have yet-to. 
be learned, but-it is pr6bable— that it will present"* 
new scenes-and objects— for commercial enterprise, 
and-it is certain— that it will open— an almost un- 
b6unded field-for Christian philanthropy-and mis- 
sionary zeal. 



It was-a Summer's Evening, 
Old Kaspar's work-^was d6ne ; 

And he— before-his c6ttage d6or< 
Was sUting-in the s6n ; 

And b^ him— sported-on the gr^en* 

His little grandchild- Wilhelmine* 



She sawher brother-P^terkin— 
Roll something large^and r6imd, 

Which h4— beside-the rivulet, 
In playing there, had f6und; 

He came"to ask-what hfe-had f6iind, 

That yraQ'so large, and sm6oth, and r6und. 

Old Kaspar took it"from the boy— 

Who sto6d exp^tant b^ ; 
And th^'iihe old man— shook-his head, 

And, with a natural sigh, 

'Tis some poor fellow's-sfcffll," said hfe. 

Who fell-in the great victory I 

** I find ihem-in the garden, 

For-there's m4ny— here"ab6ut ; 
And 6ften-when I go-to pl6ugh, 

The ploughshare— tdms them-out. 
For many th6usand men," said h^, 
" Were slain— in that great victory I" 

" Now, tfeU us-what-'twas ill aboilt," 

Y6ung Peterkin-'he cries; 
^ And little WilhelmineHooks tip, 

With w6nder- waiting eyes ; 
" Now, t^U us all-ab6ut-the war, 
And what— they kill'd each other for/' 

•* It was-the English," Ksispar cried, 
*' Whopdt-the Frfenchrto r6ut : 

But what-they kfll'd"each other f6r, 
I coMd not-well-make out. 

But 6very body-said>" quoth h6, 

•* Thatr^'twils-a famous victory T* 


" My father— lived-at Blenheim th^re. 

Yon little stream-hard b^ ; 
They bdrn'd-his dwfelling-to the gr6und. 

And— he was f5rced-to fl/ : 
S6, Tf ith his Tfife-and child- he fl^d, 
Nor hid he-wh6re— to rfest"his h6ad I 

" With fire-and sw6rd, the coilntry round 

Was wasted far-and wide ; 
And many-a chflding m6ther th^n, 

And n6w-born baby— died ; 
But things— like that, you knbw, must be 
At every famous-victory. 

" They say, it was-a sh6cking sight— 
After-the field— was w6n ; 

For many th6usand bodies- here- 
Lay rotting-in the stin I 

But things-like thdt, you know, must be 

After-a famous victory. 

" Great praise-the Diike-of Marlborough-w6n, 
And our good prince-Eugene.** 

" Wh^, *twas-a very wicked thing !" 
Said little WQhelmme. 

« Nay — n4y — ^my little girl," quoth h^, 

" It was-a famous victory I 

" And 6very body— praised-the Ddke— 
Who this gr^at fight-did win." 

" But wh4t good— came of itrat the last ?" 
Quoth little P^terkin. 

" Wh^, that I cannot tell," said h6, 

** But 'twas-a famous victory !"r— Southey. 




In the former part a few simple directions were 
given for distributing written language, when read! 
aloud, into distinct clauses, regulating the accen- 
tuation of words — ^marking not merely syllables 
bearing an accent, when compared with the other 
syllables of the same word, but words bearing an 
accent when compared with the other words of the 
same clause or sentence. Nothing was then said 
respecting the intonation of the Toice in reading — 
that is, raising or dnking the pitch of it. The 
attention of the student was then directed exclu- 
sively to the making of proper pauses, and to the 
relative force or weakness with which the different 
words in a sentence should be pronounced. 

The regulation of the tones of the voice in 
reading is a subject which it is much more difficult 
to render intelligible by written observations, than 
pausing and accentuation; so that many persona 


haye supposed it to be impracticable to give any 
written directions on that subject, and would leave 
students with the general direction to read as the j 
would naturally speak the same words sponta- 

This doubtless is^ upon the whole, a good gene- 
ral direction for reading; because any one who 
departs from his natural tones of voice, is in 
danger of being constrained and affected in his 
enunciation ; yet that this direction requires some 
explanation and enlargement will be manifest from 
the following observations : — 

1. There are in every district of the kingdom 
certain provincial tones of voice which require to 
be corrected. To many, a mere direction to ad- 
here to the tones of voice to which they have been 
accustomed, would render their reading luiUcrous, 
and, perhaps, to those who are not accustomed to 
it, scarcely intelligible. 

2. Although natural tones of voice are used in 
speaking or in spontaneous language ; yet, in re- 
hearsing the language of another, these tones do 
not so readily occur. This is sufficiently manifest 
from the total alteration in the inflections of the 
voice that take place, when any one makes the 

Introduction to elocution. — pabIt ii. 99 

transition froin expressing his own mind in his own 
^ontaneous phraseology, to the reading of what 
another person has written. 

3. Written language is generally vfery artificial 
in its structure, and so yery different from th^ 
language in which men are accustomed to conyerse, 
that, without study and practice, most men find it 
impossible to apply dieir natural tones to such 
language. We seldom speak in regular sentences, 
made up of clauses, separated from one anothel* 
by pauses of different yalues, in which also paren<- 
thetic matter is introduced, and forms of expres- 
sion used that anticipate what is afterwards to be 
expressed ; and it requires close obseryation oif the 
manner in whieh we express our natural tones, to 
l>e able to apply them to such artifi<Hal sentences, 
«o as to brii^ out the sense most clearly and 
forcibly, a&d so as to be able to correct obyious 
defects in others. 

Unhappily the udual method of teaching Elocu- 
tion has seldom had for its object the rendering of 
written language clear and perspicuous; but merely 
the communicating of pleasing musical cadences. 
The instructions giyen haye seldom had much 
^reference to the structure of the sentence, except 


80 far as it might be set to a kind of nrasical 
recitative. This has been peculiarly evident in the 
instructions given for the reading of poetry, which 
have been founded chiefly upon the rhythms of the 
verses, and the rhyme at the end of the lines, and 
not upon the sense and structure of the sentences^ 
Indeed there is much poetry that cannot be read 
in the ordinary conversational tones of voice with- 
out rendering it ludicrousn Such language as 
Milton's, for example, requires a very considerable 
modificati(»i of the conversational tones of voice, te 
render it intetligiUe. 

Still it may be doubted whether useful directions 
can be given, in written language, for regulating 
the intonation of the voice. To attempt to make 
good readers by written directions would indeed 
be preposterous ; yet there are many, it is beHevedi, 
who can testify that they have derived much infor- 
mation on the subject, and improvement in the 
practice of reading, from written directions. A 
good musician never could be made by notea on 
paper ; yet the notes bring him forward a certain 
way in preparing him for the more exact instruc- 
tions of a living teacher. So it can scarcely be 
doubted that such written directions can be given 
as will much assbt teachers in correcting tha^t 


monotony with tt hich children uniformly read when 
left to themselves, and enable them to found their 
instruction on simple intelligible principles 

The same eminent teacher who furnished the 
materials for the directions already given respect- 
ing pausing and accentuation, has been consulted in 
the directions which are here offered for correcting 
and regulating tiie tones of the voice. 

Any person accustomed to discern the variations 
of the tones of the voice used in conversation, 
whether of a grave or cheerful character, will, it 
is believed, be able to confirm the truth of the 
following observations, by watching the natural 
tones of his own voice, or of the voices of those 
with whom he associates : and, as has been already 
remarked, all natural intonations in reading or 
speaking must consist in that intonation which a 
person accustomed to move in an educated and 
polished drcle of society, uses spontaneously. 

The observations which follow, therefore, are not 
to be regarded as containing artificial directions for 
raising or lowering the pitch of the voice in read- 
ing; but as containing mere statements of fact, 
relative to the spontaneous practice of well edu- 
cated persons, in enunciating their own phraseolos;y 

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In regard to the extent of these inflections, that 
is, how far the voice is to be raised or lowered, no 
precise rule can be given. The more numerous the 
auditory, or the larger the extent of space to be 
filled with the voice, the inflections must be more 
strongly marked. A range of tone that would be 
quite sufficient to convey, with clearness and with 
feeling, the sense of an author, in reading to a 
private party in a small room, would be totally 
without effect upon a large audience ;. while, on the 
contrary, such a range of inflection as would be 
no more than sufficient for a large audience, would 
sound like rant and extravagance in reading to a 
small one. The rule therefore comes to this, that 
the louder the voice is that may be necessary to be 
perfectly audible, the wider must be the range of 
inflection ; and, on the contrary, the weaker the 
voice is, that is sufficient for the auditory, the range 
of inflection may be the more conflned. 

The student is not to expect that attention to 
these observations will make him an accomplished, 
graceful, attractive reader or speaker. The direc- 
tions which have been given, refer merely to the 
conveying of the sense of what is read distinctly 
and forcibly. But to read with taste and effect, 
much more is necessary than this. The reader 
must enter into the spirit of his author, and, while 
h& raises or lowers the pitch of his voice, or gives 
force and emphasis to particular words, he must, 
at the same time, use such tones as 8fe«.i^\|t<^'^^r^a^ 


to the sentiment to be expressed. Some pieces 
require to be read in a bold, abrupt tone of voice, 
the words biroken off from one another, like what 
is called Staccatto in music. Other pieces require 
that the words be pronounced smoothly, gliding 
into one another with scarcely any break or inter- 
ruption. Some pieces require an expression of 
pleasure, others of grief or sympathy ; some, of 
satisfaction and approbation, others of anger and 

But these elegancies and delicacies of elocution 
cannot be taught by written^ or even oral directions. 
Nothing but a correct taste> cultivated by attention 
to the manner in which people of education and 
refinement express their sentiments and feelings, 
will enable any person to attain to them. Lot, it 
however be remetnbered, that in this, as in every 
other art, accuracy must lie at the foundation of 
excellency. Just as the management of light and 
shade or colour in a picture is totally lost if the 
drawing be incorrect — ^if the rules of perspective 
or the principles of anatomy or of architecture are 
not attended to; so the bold:est and most com- 
manding enunciation, or the most moving pathos 
or sweetest tones of voice are but defor'mities if 
they are misappHed, or if the sensie be not clearly 
and distinctly conveyed. 




1. The horizontal lines, or hyphens, single and double, 
between the words, will be used as in the tbrmer part. It 
will be observed, however, that these have been gradually 
diminished in number in the following synopsis of intonation, 
and omitted altogether in the readmg lessons, as it is pre- 
sumed that the pupil, by the time he reaches these, will be 
so familiar with the pauses as to be able to make them in 
reading, without having them marked in the book. 

2. ^e acute and grave accents will be used, as in the 
former part, to denote primary and secondary accents. It 
wUl be observed, also, that these are much diminished in 
number, in consequence of the circumflexes indicating ac- 
cents as well as inflections. 

3. To denof" the inflection, rising or falling, with which 
a sentence, or clause of a sentence, is to conclude, the cir- 
cumflex accent will be used in two forms. The flrst fomir 
which first slopes upward and then downward towards th^ 
the right (""), will be used to intimate that the clause or 
sentence is to conclude on the falling inflection. See Obser- 
vations m. rV. V. and VI. The second form, which first 
slopes downward and then upward towards the right C'), 
will be used to intimate that the clause or sentence is to 
conclude with the rising inflection. — See from Observation 
Vn. to Observation XI. inclusive. 

These circumflex accents are used also in the nuddle of 
clauses, to indicate that the word upon which they are 
placed requires a similar rising or fklling inflection. 

4. When a whole word, or phrase, or clause of a sentence 
IS to be enunciated in a higher pitch of voice than that which 
precedes it, a line will be drawn imder the word, or phrase, 
or danse of a sentence. 

Ldve not d^ep, lert fhoa come to pdvertj. 

To be read thus : — 

Ldre not sleep, . P^var 

left ihou come ty. 

When words, or phrases, or successive clauses, are to rise 
above one another, separate lines will be drawn under each 
such word, or phrase, or clause. 

Love, hope, and i^y. 


To be read thus :— 

Love, ^^^' "^ ^^^' 
If the word or phrase io to be rused considerabl j, t/ro 
lines will be drawn under it, as, — 

Stay thy hand! 

Vrhen a word, or phrase, or clause is to be pronounced in a 
lower tone of voice than that which precedes it, a line will 
be drawn over such word, or phrase, or clause. 

Judas, not Iscariot. 
To be read thus :— 


not Iscariot. 

If a word or phrase having no line over it or under it 
follow one which has one or two lines under it, the voice is 
to iaM to the ordinary pitch ; but if such following word or 
phrase have a line over it, then it is to fall, but not so low as 
the ordinary pitch, as, — 

Read, that yoa may learn ! 

To be read thus : — 


that you may le3.m ! 

It did hA of his 6wn meat, it did drink, &e. 
To be read thus :— 

It did eat "^ "'*""""'' •""'>'»^»'''*«- 

The elevation or depression of the voice, indicated by these 
lines drawn over or under words, or clauses, or sentences, 
does not supersede the other directions respecting the in- 
flections of the voice. Words or phrases thus marked will, 
therefore, have the accents and circumflexes added when 
necessary, the lines indicating that the whole inflections are 
to be on a higher or lower pitch than that which preceded it. 
— See from Observations XII. to XXTV. inclusive. 

5. Words or syllables without any of the foregoing marks 
upon them, are supposed to be pronounced in the ordinary 
tone of voice ; consequently, to fall to that tone when the 
previous words have been raised above it, and to rise to it 
when the previous words have been sunk below it. — See 
Observation I. 

6. Words or phrases which require eim)hasis, as implying 
opposition or contr'ist, "^ill be printed in Italic letters ; if the 
emphasis be extraorAmaxy, m c«C9v\.«\\ft^X«t%. 





The adjective or adjective phrase takes the primary, 
and rises, or keeps the same tone. 

The splendid p^ace. A gl6omjprbspect. An harm6nious s6imd. 
A c6oling hr^eze. A h6wHng tempest. An 6hdurate heart. 
The spirit-stfrring drum. The incense-breathing mbm. 

A pleasing addr^s. A miitual agreement. A relentless mkn. 
A winding rfver. A cheering pr6spect. An amiable w6man. 
The m6uldering columns— m^k-the lingering wreck. 

When the adjective is inverted, it takes the primary, 
and rises, or keeps the same tone. 

Sbul sublime ; or. Soul sublime. Gbodness infinite; or. Good- 
ness infinite. Pbwer omnipotent ; or. Power omnipotent. 

When the adjective is inverted, and followed by a 
phrase of modification, they rise, or keep the same tone. 

A mkn rich-in go6d wbrks ; or, A mkn rich-in good wbrks. 
The mind cbnscious-of right ; or, The mind cbnscious'of right. 


A Grecian phkLanx m6vele88""ag a t6wer. 
Can it be— that souls sublime 
Return-to visit — our terr^trial dime. 

All things-sCtblunajy- are subject-to decdj. 
Advice unsife^ precipitous , and b61d. 

The Prepositional Possessive. 

The governed noun takes the primary, and rises, or 
keeps the same tone. 

The.lilws-o£ nkture ; or, The Utws-of nkture. 

A crbwn^of diamonds ; or, A crbwn-of 'diamonds. 

The r6ar-of the thiinder ; or^ The r6ar-of the thiinder. 

Tke Quaiified Possessive. 

The governed phrase takes the primary, and rises. 

Deputed spirits-of the mighty dead ; or, Dep&rted spirits- 
of the mighty d^ad. 

The kind remembrance-of our fdrmer years; or, The kfnd 
rem^mbrance-of our fdrmer y^ars. 

The Compound Possessive. 

The compound possessive takes the monotone on the 
antecedent, and the consequent follows the rule of the 

of England. of Jud^a. 

of the people- of the hfllr 

The rights" TVie \liiea— 


* The Terminational Possessive. 

When the governing noun is the subject of discourse, 
it takes the primary, and rises, or keeps the same tone. 

The Christian's h6pe ; or, The Christian's h6pe. 
£vening's silent br^th ; or, Evening's silent breath. 
Cremation's y^t domkin ; or. Creation's y^t domkin. 

Examples of the Terminational Possessive, 

My father's h6use. Mkn's happiness. Virtue's rew&rd. 

The blbod— the virgin's ch^ek fors6ok. 
Whatever clime~"the stin's bright circle w&nns. 

The pride-of gl6ry, pity's sfgh sincere, 
Ybuth's ^dent blush— and beauty's virgin t^ar. 

Night— is the time-to w&tch 
On 6cean's dkrk expose, 
To Udl-the Pleiades, or cktch- 
The full m6on's earliest gl4nce. 


The word or phrase in apposition takes the primary, 
and rises, or keeps the same tone. 

The patriarch A bram ; or, The p&triarch A^bram , 
The l&wgiver M68es ; or, The l&wgiver Moses* 
Alexdnder-^he Gr^.at*, ar^ Alex^Aei— V^^^ Qct^al* 


Pkul, the Ap68tle-of the Gentiles ; or^ 

Paul, the Ap68tle-of the Gentiles. • 


The adverb of quality or manner takes the primary, 
and rises. 

feelingly. Eloquently . gracefully. 

He reads He spbke She wklks 

When the adverb qualifies the adjective, and is 
emphatic, it takes the secondary falling inflection, and 

He is very vMiant ; or, He is very vSliant. 
They are tbo servile ; or. They are tbo servile. 
He spbke very hS-rshly ; or^ He spbke v^ry hSrshly. 

When an adjective is used as an adverb, it takes the 
primary, and rises. 

It brbke sh6rt; or. It brbke sh6rt. It Iboked 86ft; or. It 
Iboked s6ft. Was pronbunced 16ng ; or, Was pronbunced 


The object or adjunct of time, place, cause, &c., takes 
the primary, and rises. 

He Ibved-his coiintry ; or. He Ibved-his coiintry. 
He dreimed"A dr^m ; or^ He drfeameAra ^fe«gi* 


He 8cdrnetli-the scfiniers ; or, He 6c6meth-the scdmers. 
He read -a lecture. I Ibve-the mo6nlight. I arrived yesterday. 
He rhx ra, r^e . I f^ar-a st6rm. She m5umed-a 16ver. 

They gb 'by stgam . She lives-in London. He sp6ke-an oration. 


When preceded by the infinitive mood, the noun, adjec- 
tive, adverb, or phrase equivalent takes the primary, and 

To I6ve virtue ; or. To Ibve virtue. To hkte vice ; or. To 
hkte vice. To study diligently ; or, To stiidy diligently. 

To pur8iie~an h6norable eburse. To die"a trinquil death. 

To spread suspicion, to invent cilumnies, to prbpagate sc^dal, 
require neither l§,bour-nor cotirage. 

When the infinitive is an object, a cause, or an end, 
it takes the primary, and rises. 

She r^ads-to le&m ; or, She reads-to le4m. He Ibves-to 

stddy ; or, He Ibves-to study. They Ibved-to be h&ppy ; 

or, They Ibved-to be h&ppy. 
We hear n6thing-of the ^cients—c&using-the blind-to s^e, 

the Itoe- to walk, the dcaf4o he^, and the lepers-to be 


Examples of the Infinitive Verb, and its object, fyc 

To fl^wn, to cr6uch, to w^t, to rfde, to run, 
To sp^nd, to gfve, to w^t, to b^ und6ne« 


I applfed-my hSart— to know— and to search— and seek out 
wisdom, and the kn5wledge~of things. 

It is h^tter~to lfve~on a llttle~~than to outlive~a gr^t d^. 

To reli^ve~the indigent, to cbmfort~the afflicted, to protect 
the innocent, to instruct' ^he Ignorant, to rewkrd-the 
deserving, is a hum&ne* and ndble emplbjment. 

Delightful tllsk— to rear- the tender thought, 
To t^h-the y5ung id^a h5w~~to sh5ot» 
To pbur-the fr^sh instruction— b'eirthe mind. 
To br^the -the enlivening spirit, and to fix- 
The generous purpose— in the gl6wing breast* 


The incidental proposition qualifies, restricts, or 
defines the nominative or antecedent. It is raised, 
and the verb following takes the natural pitch or key- 

who is jiist 

The king-* mkkes his people hftppy. 

The mkn— who is— the 16rd-of the l&nd— spdke. 

He— who is with thee— is mightier— than th^. 

Th^ythat are wh61e— n^ed not-a physician. 

The reed— which b^nds— outlives'the stbrm. 

Nktions- which have n^ver be^n-at wSr — ftre— on an ^oal 

The kindness— which we expgrience-in y6uih — is never for- 


H^ that revealeth-a 8Scret--s^parateth v^ry friends. 
The mkn—who g5vems"his tSngue'^is wise. 
He— that was d^ad-^at 6p, and begkn-to sp^ak. 

Whb—that hks— the spirit of a m^— would siiffer hims^lf^o 
be thus-degrided ? 

The wisest man— that ^ver lived— is lfable-*to drror. 

Wisdom— gafned-by experience—is of gr^at v&Iue. 

A mkn— who is— of a detracting spirit— will misc5nstrue— the 
m6st innocent wbrds. 

The m^n-and things— that he— hath stiidied— have nbt contri- 
buted-^ the impr6vement-of his m6rals. 

Censure— is the tkx— which ^very man— who is Eminent— pkys- 
to the piiblic , 

Gbd— who preserves me, to whbm- 1 6we-myb^ing, 

Whbse- 1 hn, and whbm— I s^rve, is eternal. 
The mkn— whom he r^ed~from obsciirity— is d^ad. 

The br^ad— that hks-been ^aten— is so6n forgdtten. 

H^ — who has learned— to ob^y, will knbw hbw— to comm^d. 

That person— who is-a str&nger*to industry— may poss^, but 
he c4nnot enj6y. 

E'very pl^ure — which is p ur8iled"to excess— converts itself— 
into prison. 

His c6nduct, to vi^vv it— in the m6st favora ble light, reflects 
discredit*on his ch^acter. 

The kir, which is naturally cbld, is nbt with6ut— sbme degree^ 
of h^at. 



The word or phrase in apposition is raised, and takes 
the falling inflection* 


I dw^ll-with priidence. 

T^rquin-^he prdud— was the Ikst-of the R6inan kings* 

Alex&nder-the GrSat— was the c6nqueror-of Darius. 

In th6se dkys, "^I, D&niel, was m6uming thr^e full w^eks. 
The w5rds-of the Preacher, the s5n *of DILvid , king -of Jerft* 

Paul—the Apbstle-of the Gentiles— was Eminent— for his s^al 

and kndwledge. ^ 

UJ^sses pref6rred"his c6untry, ^Ithaca, to immort^ty, 

ril cill thee-Hfimlet, 
King, father, r6yal D4ne ; oh' ! Answer me. 


The sentence independent, or case absolute, is pro- 
nounced above the natural pitch. 

His fdther dying, 

he succeeded him~~to the estate. 
HSrold being slSin— in the fi^ld, the c6nqueror— mfirched^ 

Properly speaking, there is n6 sdch thing—as chUnce. 
PeJlce-of mind being secured, we may smile-^at the caprices- 
of f6rtune. 


J ilate, willing— to contSnt-the people, released Baribbas. 

The ^nvoy, hkying accSmplished— his bfisiness, has s^elj 

William, forgetting m ^ admoni tion, has rep^ted-lhe offence* 

Every st^, judging— by an^ogy, is the siin— to a s^ste m-of 

His c6nduct, viewing it— in the m6st favorable Ifght, reflects 

discr^dit'on his ch^acter. 


The simile, comparison, or illustrative phrase, is raised 

nnd suspensive, and the next member takes the natural 



like"a tender m6ther, 

The ^arth— nburishes— her children. 

Charity— like~the sun, brightens all-its 6bjects. 

Discretion, like a w^ll-formed 6ye, commknds-a wh6le horizon. 

Slbthy like rQst^ consiimes faster— than Ikbour w^ars. 

Diligence, like-the philosopher's st6ne, tiims ^very thing— to 

TrAth, like the Ikmp-of AlSddin , must-be dug iip. * 

A true phUusopher— like-an impartial hi8t6rian, must be-of n6 


Pr^e, like g61d-aad diamonds, bwes its y&lue— to its sdUrcitj. 

She let conc^ment, like a w6nnnn the b6d , 

F^ed' on her ddmask ch^ek. 
True expression, Iflce-^' nnchSnging stin, 
Cl^s- and impr6ves whate'er it shines up5n ; 
It gflds 611 5bjects , biit— it Alters n6ne. 

An elevated genius emplbyed- 4n little things — appears like- 
thesdn— in his Evening declin&tion ; he remits- his splendour— 
but ret^ns' his m&gnitude, and pleases m6re--though-he 
dazzles l^ss. 

Simple commencing and concluding series of nouns 
under the falling inflection. 

^Exercise and t^mperance 'nstreng^en'lhe constitution. 

SctUpture, pdinting-and m(isic-~are imitative krts. 

The British Parliament— is compbsed'-of King, L6rdsy and 

The cbnsequences' of intemperance — kre disgr&ce^ p6verty, 
disease-'and premature d^th. 

Hamiinit j, Jilstlce, Generdsity, oitlid Pfttriotism^ are qualities— 
m6st iiseful-to soctety. 

Where mduldering cblumns mkrk— the lingering wi^dc 
Of Thebes, Palmyra, B&b^lon, Baib^. 

'Industry— IS the Ikw-of our b^ing : it is-the demknd'of n(iture, 
of reason, and of G6d. 


N^ne'~but the temperate, the regular, and the virtuous, know 
hbw—to enj6y prosperity. 

Simple commencing and concluding series of nouns 
under the rising inflection. 

*I am-the wSy, the tr6th, and the life. 

The Christian religion—is full-of beauty, piirity, and trQth. 

Jo s, griefy admirdtion, and devdtion— kre nS.turally miisical. 
bwdet interchange'of hlll-and y^ey, rivers, w6ods, and plSins. 
I'^ace, h5nour, and gl6ry-to Svery m^— that worketh g6od. 

In one sh6rt view— subj6cted-to the Sye, 
Kings, Emperors, heroes, sages, beauties lie. 

Bid her-be ^Hhat cheers and s6ftens life, 
The tender sister, d&i^hter, friend, and wife. 

His air, his v5ice , his Idoks, and h6nest s6ul. 
Speak ^"so movinglyin his beh^. 

Simple commencing and concluding series of adjectives 
under ihe falling inflection. 

'J'he first, b^st c6untry— ^ver is-at h6me. 

Brief, brive, and gl6riou8 — wks -his yCung career. 
.H$ poss^ssed-an dpen, gr Onerous , and imdeslgning heart. 
The I^guage -of triith -4s {kniforxn, consistent, and unvdrying. 
D^vid—was a ciutious, br^ve, mSrtial, and ^terprinng prince. 


A pr6ud, Ingolent, overb^aiing, and ambitious maii" 4s Always 

fulhof id^as'of his 6wn imp6rtance. 
The N5rtheru p^ople'-'are llLrge, fair compl^xioneci, strdng, 

sinewy, and cour&geous. 

Just broke'from 8ch6oly p^rt, impudent^ and r&w. 
A h&rden'd, s6ber, pr6ud, lux^ious knkye. 

Simple commencing and concluding series of a4]ectives 
under the rising inflection. 

Sw^et, silent rh^toric-of persu&ding ^yes. 

He preaches sublimely — who lives a s6ber, righteous, and pious 

Mat£lda~was y6ung, beautiful, virtuous, and h&ppy. 

Sacred history— is a simple, chSste, faithful, and dispassionate 
detkil- of f&cts. 

The Italian— is a mild, l lqmd, s m5oth, and effeminate language. 

The kir— is mild, the wind— is dUm, 
The stream— is sm5oth, the d^w— is b&lm. 
Sw^et dky— sopfire, so c^m, so bright, 
The bridal— of the garth-and sky. 

Ybn Ckssius— has a l^an— and hungry Ibok ; 
He thinks t6o mfich — stich men— are d&ngerous. 

There are n6 tric}cs 'in plain and simple f kith. 

In regions mild— of calm-and serine a(r. 


Simple commencing and concluding series of verbs 
under the falling inflection. 

He lives, he breathes, he brfi,ves-the fr6wn-of fdte. 
He has tiught me —to ob^y , respect, and h6nour him. 

The stitdy-of natural history impr6ves , expS.nds, and Elevates: 
the mind. 

Thus c6mmerce, r6ving still— from plkce— to pl^e. 
Blends, s6ftens, and refines— the hdman rkce. 
Judge^of his tut, through beauty's realm he flies, 
Selects, combines, impr6ves, diversifies. 

Sin)ple commencing and concluding series of verbs 
under the rising inflection. 

In him— we live, and move, and hkve-our b^ing. 

Bid her-be 511— that cheers-and softens life. 

HI— who loves, serves, and obSys his Cre&tor, will be-hippy. 

He was contented— in being loved, esteemed, and respected. 

A mkn, fSaring, serving, knowing, and 16ving-his Creator. 

We h^ nSthing^of causing-the blind-tos^ the diaf to hear, 
the Ikme'to w51k, and the lepers— to be cleansed. 

Pl^osed-^th his idol, he commands, admires , 
Adores, and Ikst— the adored — desires. 

1 applled-my heSrt— to knSw, and to search, and to s^ek out 
wisdom , and the r&ison-of tbin^. 


But— in his diitjr, prompt-at ^very cdll. 

Trembling, hoping, lingering , fljpingi 
*0h ! the p&in, the blfas-of d^ng! 

Simple commencing and concluding series of adverbs 
under the falling inflection. 

Success dep^d8"~on Acting priidentljrand vlgoroualy. 
He was Amply, richly, and hdnorabiy rewarded. 
Pronbunce ^very wbrd clearly, fdrcibly , and harm6ntously. 
The brator pleaded gr&cefully, Eloquently, and plaiLsibly. 
Mentally andbddily — we are ciirioualy and w6nderf ully fbrmed. 

Simple commencing and concluding series of adverbs 
under the rising inflection. 

S16wl yand a^y — we l&id him-d6wn. 
Lightly recefved— were eSsily forgbt. 
Hbpe c6mfortably and ch^erfully for Gbd's perf6rmance. 

To live sbberly, righteously, and piously — is the whole duty-of 

He driams aw&y-his t£me ISzily, listlessly, and (Uselessly. 

He s6ught afiker-kndwledge steadily, piiti^ntly, and persev^ 


A simple series of more than four particulars may be 
divided into portions of two or three members, and raised 
and pronounced in monotone. 

Be thbu-an ex&mple-'of the believers, in w6rd, in conversition, 
in ch&rity> in spirit, in f&ith, in ptiritj. 

The fruit-of the spirit—is 15 ve, jdj, pSace, 16ng-8ufferingy 
gentleness, goodness, faitt^ meekness, temperance, against 
s(ich"~there isnid Ikw. 

For r— am persiiaded— that nether ddath-nor life, nor Angels, 
nor principalities, nor p6wer8, nor things pr^ent, nor things* 
to c5me, nor height, nor d^pth , n or &ny other-crekture, 
shall be &ble— to separate ns'-from the leve-of G6d, which 
Isrin Christ Jgsus — our L6rd. 

H^ce strife, cl&mour, and tiimult, cSre, suspicion, and fSar^ 
d&nger and tr6uble, s6rrow and regret, do s^ize up5n~the 
the reviler, and— he is o6nstantly piinished— for this dealing* 

In the following series, the primary in the first mem- 
ber becomes the subject of the second, and is pronounced 
lower, and so on with the others. 

The ungovemed pSssions-of men — betr&y them-into-a thdusand 

follies ; their f611ies — into crimes ; and their crimes— into 

From l&w arises seciirity, from sec(irity inquiry, from inq(iiry 
knowledge, and from kndwledge p6wer. 

Consult-your wh61e nature ; coivs\Ag t 3Q>a»^N^gr -\SL^'C^^T"^^ 


Sensitive, but as rational beings ; not only—as r&tional, but 
s5cial ; nbt— as s6cial, but immdrtal. 

Whbna—he did forekn6w— he ^so—did predestinate, and whbm— 
he did predestinate, tb^m— he klso c^ed, and whbm— he 
c&Ued, th^m—he&lso justified, andwhbm—hejiistified, th^m— 
he dlso gl6rified. 

There is nb enj6yment-of prSperty— withbut go-vemment, nb 
government— withbut-a magistrate, nb magistrate— withbut 
obedience, and nb obiSdience— where every one— kcts — as he 

Whkt— is there— remaining— of liberty — if whatever— is their 

pleasure— it is l§,wful-for th^m— to d6 , if whkt— is ISwful-for 

them-to d6, they d&re do, and if whkt-they d&re do, they 

really execute, knd— if whkt-they execute— is n6 way— 
ofiensive-to ybu. 

The contrast in simple series under the rising and 
falling inflection and circumflex. 

Dr^den— is s6metimes vehement, r&pid, and energetic ; 
Pbpe— is Always sm5oth, iiniform, and gentle. 

The st^le-ofA^ddison— is easy, elegant, and perspicuous, 

but-it wknts sOul- and it wknts p&ssion. 
The st^le'of Cicero— is clear, diffuse, and pathetic ; thkt-of 

Quintilian, strdngf concise, and expressive. 


Oratory— is the krt-of spSaJdng freely, gracefully, and energ^ 

tically, upon any subject, with a yiewto instriict, persiiade, 
and please* 
Philosophy—is a pr6ud, s611en det^ctoirof the p6verty-and 
misery-()f m^. It may tfim him-from the wSrld-with a 
pr6ud, st(irdy contempt ^ biit-it c^nnot'come forward-and 
sky, " Here- are r^st, gr^ce, p^ace, strength, and conso- 

To him -no high, no 16w, no gr^at, no sm^ll ; 

He fills, he bdunds, connects, and Equals ^. 
Art thou-poor? shbvv thyself-&ctive-and industrious, place- 
able-and cout^nted. *Art thou-w^aJthy? shbw thyself 
beneficent, charitable, condescending, and humane. 

They solicit plkces-in 6ne m^ner, and Execute them-in 
andther. They set 6ut-with a griat app^arance-of activity, 
humility , and moderation ; ^d-they quickly fi^U-into sloth, 
pride, and §,yarice. 

' ,» 

When a period is connected by as and so, as takes the 
falling inflection and rises, and so the ordinary tone. 

*As-the st&rs, *As-the bne dleth. 

sb-shall thy s^ed be. sb d)eth-the 6ther. 

*As vfrtue advances, sb vice recMes* 
* As-the b^auty-of the body-Tnust Mways acc6mpany-the healtb 

of it, sb dficencyof behSviour-i s a necessary conc6mitant'' 

to virtue. 
*As virt ue"is its own rewSxA, s'b N\g«rv%>K^& ^-^ra.^^gsx^:«sassc&>^ 


*A8'we perc^ive-the sh&dow ^ mbve al6xig-the dial, jbut did not* 

perceive it"ni6vi ng, sb^the advances— we mfike-in ISamingy 

consfsting^of insensible st^ps, are bnly perceived""by the 
d(8tance~g6ne over. 

As-you are nbt "to f&ncy jonrs^lf-a learned mkn, Because— you 
are blessed — with a rfady wf t, sd neither miist you imagine— 
that lllrge-and lab6riou8 rgading - and string mtoory cara 
dendminate you "tr(ily wise. 

As iD^of Eminence— are exp6sed~to c^nsure-'on the 6ne hand, 

«5~they kre—as miich liable-to fl&ttery-on the Other. 
As-nu mau'can enj6y hi(ppines8~nml^ss~he thlnks~he enjbys it, 
sb -the expericnce-of calSmity ^feems necessary — to a jiist 
sense of better fortune. 

*A8--ivhilo hope rcmSins—there can bfe"no fiill~and p6sitiye 
misery, sb"-while fi'ar— is yt't alive , hdppiness—b incomplete. 

'As— in the waiter, face &nswercth- to face, sb— the h^art-of 
niiin— to miin. 


When a word or phrase is opposed to a word or phrase 
understood, it takes the falling inflection and rises. 

a voluntarif 

He requires service. 

We shudder~at the rery thou^ht 'oi dissolQtion. 

I could not' trcaf g dog HI. 

*Exercisc-and temperance— strengthen ^ve n-an inffifferenl con* 


He is acknowledged— by ^very one— to be—a n h6nest , intrepid, 
and Idyal sbldier. 

His cb^acter— part6ok~of ^— that was m^an, parsim6nious, 

and contemptible. 
In brdeir to acquire fSme ^ m^n enc5unter-the greatest d^gers. 

Jt m&kes me-Tn&d— to thlnk-of the prdud victor. 
And ^1-the wrfter— lives-in ^very line. 

When words or phrases are opposed to words or 
phrases, thisy may both take l9ie falling inflection, or 
the first may have the rising, and the second word or 
phrase the falling, or the reverse, according to the 
character of the sentiment. 

to/%^^< tor^tV-athfrn. 

You were pkid— a^inst Alez&ider, not— 

Shall w^ — in ybur person crdtrn— the ^uthor"of the public 

calamities, oi^ shWl we-^destrdi/ him ? 
M^y persons — mist&ke-the /dyg — for the prdcticerof virtue. 
Does his c6nduct support discipline— or destrdy it ? 

M^n- of much reading — arg griatly Uarned^ E5t mky be— little 

A inhxdr'QBXLvht'he kndum in prospirityy asxd an enemy"" 
caanbt' ftg hidden-in advirsU y. 

Exc^ss'of cSremony— shbws w&nt-of breeding. 

hiberiy wiih laws -^and g6vemment -with<)ut oppression. 

When our vices Uave ttjf— we flatter ours^ilvear-uje C^5^x* v.l\fc«v^ 


The prSdigal— r6bs-Ats Mir^ the miser— rdbs himself. 

It is bne thing—to prSmise, and anbther— toyt*//t^. 

Ah ! km me nvith thy wSapon, nbt— with thy wdrds. 

You rahaxT'to bSar me, nbt— ^o bSar with me. 

He can bribe, but he c^not sedUce ; he can hAt/, but he 

cknnot gdin ; he can Ite, but he cknnot dec^ve. 
We jiidge-of men, nbt— from the wi^ni— which distinguishes 

thim, but—from the Interest—which g6verns ds. 
As it is-the characteristic-of grSat toits^o sky miich-in a few 
w6rds, 6b''8m&U wits s^em-to bkve— the glft-bf speaking 
miich-and skying little. 


*If— we have n6 regard— for our 6wn ch^acter, we bught— to 
have s5me regard— for the chSracteirof dthers, 

*If— we have n6 reg&rd— for religion— tn ytuth, we bught— to 
have s6me regard for it— tn dge. 

It b n6t enough— to sdy pr&yers, unl^s— we live them— tbo. 

Pride still— is ILiming^at the blSst ab6desy 

M§n— would be Sngels, &ngels— would be g6ds, 

Aspiring— to be g6ds— if dngels f^ll — 

Aspiring — to be Sngels— m^n reb^l. 

Transposition of Accent, 

When words opposed have a sameness in part of their 
formation, the transposition of accent is required in one 
of the words. 

WhktHs d6ne dtnnot-be Undone. 

Their tbdughts acciising— or ^Ise ^^cusing bne andther. 


There is a difference between giviagyjidforgimng. 

Neither justice- Tior C7ijustice *"has &nythiDg" to d6— with the 
present question. 

This corrHptible-nDOXist put bn tncorrupHon , and this mMaH 
. miist put bn immortality, 

I shall judge-"of your abflities'-by your speaking grS.cefully^ 
or i^ngpraceiolly. 

In this sp€cies"of composltion"^^i«5tit7t7^y-ns mbre essential— 

than pr&bability, 
Lucius Cdtaline — was expert— in &lHiie 5rts-of simulation-and 


Negative members are pronounced lower than the 
affirmatiye, whether expressed or implied. 

Virtue— is n6t r^t—but Action. 

If sinfiers enllce thee— consent thou-nbt. 

We must 2at-to live— and nbt live-to 6at. 

We 6ught-to l6ver'B,ndi nbt hdtff^ojxr Enemies. 
R^nd-your Martsr-onA nbt—your gdrments, 
I db not-r^^'tt^^^but c?ffm4nrf— your attention. 
Fors4ke not-an 6ld fii^nd— for the nStmis nbt c6mparable* to 

Mkn— is ngurished, nbt-"by wh&t-he ^tf^«— biit—by whH-Vv«^ 



The int^grity of m^n— is Ho be m^asured-by their cdnduct, n5t ' 

by their profejtsions. 
We have t&ken up-arms n5t"-to betrdif^ hut to defjnd -^oru 


Linng-to one's s^lf-is living— in the wSrld, as In it, n6t 6f it. 

The ^nd-of Eloquence — is not*" to m6ke ns-beUhfr -hutr^ m6ke 

It is the ^^or^and n5t*the A^ttrf-"which-the 5rator miist 


A fklse condition— is an 5rror-in &'gument, n6t-a breach-of 

LS,w8— are intended— to giiard agafnst — what men mdy do, 

nbt— to triist—to wh^t- they wtU do. 

When Idurand r^a*o»— sp^k pl&inly, we d5 not-w&nt authS- 
titifix) dir^ct-our understanding. 

He sterns pr6ud-and disd&inful, hftrpiugpipon wh&t I ftm, n6t— 
what he kn^w— I w^. 

Remember— that virtue) in-general— is nbt—tofiel^ but to dO ; 
nbt m^ely— to concSive- a, piirpose, but to cdrri^ thkt piirpose— 
into execution; nbt merely — to be overp6wered — by the 
impr^sion- of a sfatiment, biit— to pr&ctise whlit— it 15ves— 
and to Imitate whkt— it admires. 

Th^y— that are wh61e — n^d not-a physician. 
We mky — gfve advice ^ biit— we c&nnot—gfve cdnduct. 
To find -the nearest w^y — from tr(ith" to triith, from piirpose-to 
effect, nbt'^o ftse m6re instrTfimiei\\.a— v\vwft ifeTt^Y— mil be 


sufficient, nbt-lo m6ve"by whSels whkt— will give wky ^otlie 

ndked hdnd -^ the gr^at pr6of-of a vigorous mindy Deither 
feeble— with helpless innocence^ nbr OYerldaded — with un* 
wieldy kndwledge. 
We go -to P6rtugal, nlbtio rfile, nbt-to gSyem, nbt -to dictate , 
n6t- to prescribe — but— to plknt-our stimdard— Itnd to seciire- 
her independence. Wh^e— the stimdard- of E'nglaiid-is 
plated , th^re f6reign donAiion— sfa&ll n6t cdme. 

Independence— is nbt allfed-to wealth, to blrtiiy to r&nk, to 
p6wer, to titles, to h6nour. Independence— is— in the mmd* 
of mkn, 6irit is n6 where. • 


The literal use of the interrogation is to ask a question, 
the figurative to affirm or deny in an oblique manner* 

Rule 1. When questions are asked by an interroga- 
tive pronoun or adverb, that word is pronounced high, 
and takes the falling inflection, and the words which 
follow are pronounced lower. 

Whd Wh^ Wh6 

mltde me ? was I mkde ? was my Creator? 

Which ^ Where Hftw 

is the letter ? is the m&n ? ci^me he h^ ? 


will you dlr-in the d6.y^ ^m\lk^<Wi\ 




has this mgm- i:his wisdom ? 

Wh^n shall th^se things b^ ? ^ Adam, whSre krt thou ? 
Whereby— shall I knfiw this? Wh^pce-and whkt art thou? 

Wherewith— shall I s&ve I srael? Wh6--do m^n sky— t hat I &m? 

Wh^ther- of the twkin- did-the will rof his fkther ? 

Which of you— convinces me- of sin ? 

For whlch-of th6se wbrks— d6 you st6ne me ? 

Wh&t— has he g^ed^-by his folly and inttoperance ? 

Wh6 is h^re sb b&se'^hat w6uld be-ajbdndman? 

Wh^re— shall we f ind-a mkn— that b^ars affliction, 
Gr^at-and majestic— ia his griefs— like C&to ? 

Rule 2. When questions are without interrogatire 
words, the word on which the question depends takes 
the rising inflection. 

blgwing? failing? shining? 

Is the wind Is the d^w Is the mbon 

*I8 he- in Earnest ? Am ^I -ungir&teful? * Are they-gSnerous ? 
Did Alexander c6nquer- the Pgrsians? 
C&n there— be &ny ggod — come 6ut-of NSzareth ? 
Did he— inv61ve hims^lf^by his 6wn imprudence ? 
Are we fftrmed— with the desire — for immortality ? 
D5 not-Sril communications corriipt integrity ? 
Has thkt celebrated writer— and 6rator bfeen decSiyed ? 
Have jbwanj eiuse— to be AispVfea&eAr mlb. m^ ? 


^^^lcn tho question implies more than is expressed, 
when it defies contradiction, it takes the falling inflection 
and is pronounced wHh energy. 

Is he n^t rightly nkmed Jucoh ? 

Are not- the happy rare ? Will not-the g6od he recompensed ? 

Has the malignity-of individuals, or the stability-of govern- 
ment, or the strengtli -of the country -^been weakened ? 

WbiUd— he have been success fuhin the enterprise ? 

Would nbt-the good—have been .amply recompensed ? 

Do the perfections- of the Almighty lie dormant ? 

Does he possess them""as ip- he possessed them not ? 

Are they not r&ther— in continual exercise ? 

Are we not 6ften* the least thoughtful -nvhen our situation 

demands—the utmost seriousness ? 
Is it your opinion — that a man must learn— to be j Cist and good, 

in like manner— as he learned— to r^ad-and >\Tite ? 

I - ■ 

How few— can we find—whose activity— has not been -misap- 
plied ? 

When interrogative sentences aro connected by the 
word or, the first question usually takes the rising, and 
the second the falling inflection. 

Do you wSlk— or dance ? Do you read- or sing ? 

Are you tbiling-for fame— or for fortune ? 

Was the indignity oflered— by Albert— or FrMe^vfik^ 


Will such a l&w s€rve~to degrade-"or ^levate-the human 

Do you supp68e— thatTlches^ or h6nour—or virtue mti^t be- 

the sacrifice ? 

When questions are answered, the question is suspen- 
sive, and the answer takes the ordinary tone* 

''Art thou — pr6ud ygt? *Ay— that *I-am nbt— th|e. 

You have obliged-a mkn ; v6ry w^ll ! Is nbt-the consciousness- 
of dbing g6od— a sufficient rewSrd ? 

Searching 6very klngdom- for the mkn— who h^-the l^ast 
c6mfort-in Iffe, wh^re is he- to be f6und? In the r6yal 
pklace. WhS.t! his m&jesty ? Yes; csp^cially -if he b^ 

But-in susp^nding- his vofce — was the sdnse-susp^nded likewise . 
Did nb expr^ssion-of &ttitude -or countenance ffll iip-the 1 
chgsm? Was the eye sflent ? Did you-nSrrowly 15ok? 1 

looked 6nly at the stop-watch-my Lbrd. Excellent ob- 

server ! 

Wh^ — has not mkn-a microscopic ^ye ? 
For this plkin reason, mkn— is nbt-a fl^« 


Exclamations and all interjections are expressiye of 
the emotions and passions. When tho word, phrase, or 
sentence expresses regard, affection, pity, sorrow, joy, 
grief, &c., tho rising inflection predominates. 

Ah' me ! Oh' me ! 0' dear me. Oh' hgavenly pgwerst 



0' gentle sleep, nature's soft nurse, hbw— h^ve I-frighted thee, 
that thbu-no more— wilt seal-my uyelids up— and steep-my 
senses— in forgetfulness. 

Oh' deep, enchanting pr^Iude-io repose, 
The dawn-of bliss ! the twilight'of our w6e8. 

Alhs! how different — yet— how hlce-the same. 

Ah' friend ! to dazzle Ict-the vain design ; 

To raise -the thofight — and tbuch-the heart— be thine. 

How mysterious— are the wAys"of Providence ! 

These— are thy glorious wbrks , P^ent-of g^od. 
Almighty ! thine— this universal frame ! 

What a piece'of wbrk — is mdn, how infinite"in faculties; in 
form-and moving— how express-and admirable ; in fiction"- 
how irke~an angel ; in apprehension — how like'a g6d . 

Oh' death ! where— is th^ sting ? Oh' grSve ! wh^re — is th^ 
victory ? 

Ah'! Montague, 
If thou— be th^re, sweet br6ther, take-my h&nd, 
And with-thy lips — keep fn— my soul awhile. 

Ah' Warwick ! Montague— hath breathed-his l&st, 
And— to the Idtest gSsp— cried 6ut-for Warwick. 

Oh' fairest beautj^! db not"fear— nor fl^. 

Ah' ! kill me-^th-thy weapon, nbt -with thy words, 

*I dm-thy father — oh' my son ! my son ! 

Whkt winning g r&ces ! whkt majestic mfen ! 
She mbves-a g6ddess— and she 16oks-a qu^en ! 


Alphonso ! oh' Alphonso ! 
Thbu too — art quiet, Ibng—hast thou b^n-at rfist. 
Both, both father-and son —are n5w-at rest. 
Then whj' not-F? Oh' when-^hall I'— have vest! 

When the word, phrase, or sentence is expressiye of 
the grand, the solemn, the magnificent, or the sublimOj 
the falling inflection predominates. 

*Angels-and mlnisters-of grSce— defend usl 

These""ilre thy g'lorious works, Parent-'of good ! 

Almighty ! thine this univc^rsal frame. 

Thus wondrous fafr ! thyself—how w6ndrous, then. 

How beautiful— IS death— when earned-by \irtue. 

It is a dread- and {iwful thing — to ^1 

Departed spirits-of the mighty dead, 
Ye-that at Marathon- and Leuctra bled ! 

The ma mmoth comes ! the foe ! the monster Hnlndt ! 
With all-his howling, desolating band. 

O v6id-of faith ! of a ll b a d men-the worst, 
Uenown'd— for wisdom — ^by th' abiise accurst. 

Ah' ! Warwick, Warwick, wert thbu— as w5 are, 
W^e might recover kll-our loss again. 
The qiu* en— from France — hath brbught-a puissant power. 
Even now— we h^ard'the news ! Ah' couldst thou— fl j^ ! 
Warwick.— Wh^ then ' I wQuld not fl5- ! 

Rome— is nb more. 
Oh' liberty ! Oh' virtue ! Oh' m^* country ! 


For he&yen-and e^rth— can witness, 

If R6me mi&st fkll"-that we""are innocent. 
For lb ! the tyrant prdstrate-^on the d(ist ; 
And Rdme ag^-is fr^. 

Irony, disdain, contempt, is pronounced low, slow, and 
in a threatening, or in a playful laughing manner. 

*Ali ! you sw6et d^ar Ifttle r6gue"-*I understand you-ay. 
Oh ! she wbuld laugh me-*6ut ofmyself. 
Press me— to d^ath~with wit. 

Considers sh^ m^ possessions ? 

*0h! ky! knd pities them. 

Wherefore ? That such— an &ss— should 6wn them. 

Q6 see Sir R6bert. — S^e Sir R6bert ! hum I 
*And n^ver ISugh- for fillnay life — to cbme. 

Oh' ! Charles— is a v^ry pr6per m^n, an Excellent poet, orator— 

and &1I thkt--an exceeding great m&a. 
Tut, t6t, h^re— is a mannerly forbearance n6 d6ubt. 

Oh" Excellent int^rpreter- of the l^w, mkster-of antiquity, 
imprfiver, corr5ctor-and am^nder— of 6ur constit(ition. 

T^U me — will you still— go ab6ut— and &sk bne an6ther whkt 
n^ws? Whkt— can be m6re astonishing nSws— than this, 
that the m&n-of M&cedon— mkkes wSr upbn-the Athenians- 
and disp6ses— of the aff&s~of Greece. 

Is Philip d^ad? . biit- he is sick. Whkt sfgnifies it-to y6u 
whether— he be d^ad-or alfve ? fbr if &ny thing h&p pens to 
thU Pbilip, you wiU immediately raise u^'andther^ 


Thiis Elijah ch&llenged- the prtests-of Bfal- to prbve^ the triith " 
of their d^ity. Cr^ al6ud, fbr ^he Is-a G6d ; gither— he is 
talking, or— he is pursuing , br— he is in -a j5umey, 6r perad- 
v^nture'he sl^epeth— and mibt be'tiw^ened. 


When the verb is placed after its object or adjanct, it 
takes the primary and rises. 

O'er-his fSir Ifmbs— a fl6wery v^st-he thrlw. 

In her fSir h&nd—a sflver cup "8he b6re. 

The ySwning r6ck8"Tn mdssy fragments— fl^. 

S6ft whispers— thr5ugh* the assembly — w^nt. 

I 5ft- 4n bitterness'of sbul—depldred. 

Ag4in unm5ved*" a sh5wer"of 86rrow — sh^d. 

Through him —the rkys"of r6yal b6unty * -8hine. 

And kll Ol^pus — to its centre sh6ok. 

It is much ben^h me— on his thr6ne-to sit. 

Wkr, h$rrid w&r — your thoughtful w^dks— inv&de, 

S wget— is the g4ie— that brfathes- the spring. 

Sw^et — is the br6ath-of m5m, her rising-swSety 
When the siin— belbw-the line— descends. 

Of Opening hfaven— they siing — and glftdsome dJly. 

HSrk ! a gl&d vbice— the 16nel y d^rt-ch^rs. 

Of Priam's r6yal rkce— my mbther— c&me. 

Their semblance kind, and mild— their gestures— were. 



Fiir tresses—mkn's imperial rkce-ensn^e. 
"Oft pining c4res"-in rfch brocMes—are dressed. 
Muntiiring— and wfth him-fled—the shades-of night. 
Nor wSs it-with ingrStitude-"ret(bTied. 
The stealing sh6wer— is 8ckrce-i;o patter-h^d. 
The sun— his cheerful Ifght- withdraw. 
She— with extended tans—his kid-impl6res. 
Pausing" awhfle— thiis—to hers^bHshe m^ed. 


The parenthesis is useful in introducing an idea or 
remark without disturbing the construction of the sen- 
tence. In order to distinguish it from the sentence, it is 
generally pronounced in a monotone, often below, but 
sometimes above the natural pitch or ordinary tone. 

Nothing— ckn-be gr^at— the contempt -of which— is gr^at, (says 

Re member (continued she-with a sfgh) your diar Absent 

An Awkward addr^s, ungr&ceful ^ttitudes-and Actions— and a 

certain left-handedness (if I wkj use'lhe w6rd) loitdly 
proclaim Ibw education— and I5w c6mpany. 

By the pl^ures-of the imagin£tion-or f Sncy (which— I shall 

use promiscuously) I here m^an such— as arl8e" from visible 


I bwn, in 6ne case, whenever a mkn's c6nscience"-d5es accfise 

him (as it seldom ^rrs^on thilt side) that-he Is guSltj. 

Knbw then— this triith (enbugh— for mkn— to kn6w) 
Virtue al6ne— is h&ppiness bel6w. 

I have slen chSrity, ( if ch&rity— it mlght"be cfilled, ) insfilt*- 
with an &iirof pity. 

Pride— in some disg^ulse-or 6ther (bften-a secret— to the proad 

man-hims^lf,) is the mbst 6rdinary sprfng-of Action - among 

The spider's threap— ( how gxqmsitely flbe ) ! 

F^ls-at ^h t6uch— and Ifves al6ng-^he line. 

The short intervening members, said 7, says he, re- 
plied she, continued they^ &c., may range under the head 
of parenthesis; they are pronounced above or below the 
ordinary tone, and under the fSedling infiectioiL 

You perceive , then, said ^I, that the cduse^ ns a hopeless bne, 
H6w— can thdt b^ ? said he. It 2s obnSzious— to the ministry, 
replied I. J^tice, exddimed he, will cSrry it. Jiistioe 
v^us p6wer,. rej6ined I, is a desperate l&w-suit. 

Thus then, said h^ since- you are sb iirgent, it is thi!is— that 
*I conceive it : The sSvereig^ g6od— is tlAt— the possfession* 

of whfch— renders us-h&ppy. -And h6w, said ^I, d6 we- 
poss^ssjt? Is it sgnsual- or intellectual ? Th^e— you are 
Entering, said h^, upbn-the det&il. 


Save, when it means to except, to subtract, to reserve 
from a general admission, lowers the tone and takes the 
falling inflection. 

^Israel bdmed n5ne of them —s&ve H^or 6nly. 

Of the J^ws— fivetimes I received f6rty strfpes sSve 6ne. 

Ye shall n5t come4nto the l&nd — s&ve CSleb and J6shua. 

There was ngthing-in the Srk -^&y ythe tw6 tables -of 8t6ne. 

I will not t6ke ^jthing that is thine — skYe"6nly thkt--which 
the y6ung men have 6aten. 

And whkt have kings— that prlvates- hdve not-t6o, skve c^re- 
mony, skve general ceremony ? 

*A11 the conspirators— s^ve 6nly h^ 

Did whkt they did — in ^nvy of gr^at C^sar . 

Nbne linger nbw upon the plain, 

Skve th6se— who nS'er shall fight ag&in. 

Then. Then is a word noting an inference or refer- 
ring to a time specified either past or future. In the 
following examples, the member commencing with then 
takes the natural pitch. 

Then— went out to him— fill Jeriisalem. 

So then— th^y that are In the flfeh— cknnot please G6d. 

If ye b^ Christ's— then— fire ye Abraham's s^ed. 

If ye continue— in m^ \v6rd, then— dre ye my disciples indeed. 

If Christ— be n6t risen— then— is 6^* preaching viin. 


If ^ this b^ 8o~~th^ii m&n—has a natural fr^dom. 

If a mkn can niimber^he ddst-of the ^arth, thin shall thy 
seed klso'^be niimbered. 

First— be reconciled to thy br6ther— and thin c6nie— and 6filer 
thy g ift. 

If you ch6ose th&t, thfen— I am y6urs withkL 

The minor 16ngs to hh of &g^ , thin— to hh a mkn-of bfismess, 
thin— to m&ke up an estate, then— to arrive at honour, 
then— to retire. 

Yet, however, nevertheless, notwithstanding, 
THEREFORE, &c., mark the degree of assurance where- 
with the judgment is formed. In the following examples 
* they take the natural pitch and falling inflection. 

Thbugh— he was rich— yit for 6ur skkes— he bec&me pdor, 

I c6me to you — in the spirit of pface, yit— you will not receive 

Though hkrsh the precept, yit the preacher charmed. 

Thbugh I have 6ften attempted— to l^am it — yit— I c^not 

I f bught and c6nquered— yet— have Ibst the prize. 

YIt— I sS.y unto you— that S61omon — in ill his gl6ry— was nbt 

arrayed— like 6ne-of thise. 
Thohgh— he was learned— yfet— he was m6dest . 

I wished to die— yit— dAre not— diath endftre. 
Is It time -to g6 ? N6t yit. 


ThbughwrUing-nnay ^swer the ptirposes of mere instr(iction, 
yet— kll the grSat-and high 6ffices-of Eloquence— miist he 
m^e— by means of sp6ken— nbt of written language. 

Al^""how different"-yet--hovv like the s&me. 
Which" 4f nbt victory — is yet— revenge. 

Though relfgion remCves not— llll the evils ot life, y^t— it mky 
jdstly be said— to give rSst— to them— that l&bour-and are 
heavy Ikden. 

'Tis— with our judgments ks our witches, nfine 
Gb just alfke, yet ^ch believes his 6wn. 

Though d^p, yet clSar ; though gentle , yet nbt diill ; 
Str6ng— without r^ge ; withbut o'erfl6wing fiill. 

No c6urtier*s fkce— and y^t— its smile was r^ady ; 
No 8ch61ar*s— yet— his 26ok— was d^ep and steady. 

Thbugh he sliy me— yet -will I triist in him , 

T hbugh he were a son - yet"* lefoied he obedience— by the 

things—which he sMered* 
However, the sense-of syime— could produce — whkt piibl ic 

h6nour~and public spirit— fi^ed to prodiice. 

A m&n, however, who is y6ung in ygars — mky be 61d in hdurs, 

if he has Ibst-no time. 
It is, however, 6nly — from the Actions of m^n— that the piiblic— 

can jiidge — of their pr6bity. 

It is the bl&ckest i n gratitude, however denied by sbme, to 
accept the bSst'of bne*s end^vours to s^rve us— and repSy 
it with indifference. 


However— thbugh he h^ld— this principle of cbnduct-"to be 
necessary, th^efore, in his estimation, jiist, yet, like ^yery 
bther principle, it cgrtainlyhath its prb^ bbunds . 

I kn6w you~br&ve and generous, th^efore t&ke you— at your 

It is a r^iny dky, but notwithstanding thkt, the tr6ops— must 

be reviewed. 
I will sdrely r^nd the kingdom-from th^e, knd I will give it 

to thy servant ; notwithst^nding-4n th^ days— I will n6t db 

it— for DS,vid thy f&ther's skke, 
Christ— enj6ined on his fdllowers— nbt to piiblish the cikes he 

wrbught; but notwithstanding his injiinctiona— they pro- 

clamed them. 
Notwithstanding— thi s declaration , we d6 not apprehend— that 

w^ are gdilty of presiimption. 
It r^ns and bl6ws fiiriously, notwithstdnding— we miist pro- 
ceed-on our jbumey. 
Acquaint nbw thyself with Him— and b^ at p^e ; thereby 

g6od— shal l c6me to thee. 
I have married a wife— and therefore- 1 c&nnot cbme. 
He bldshes, therefore— he is giiilty. 

For and because, in examples such as the followng, 
lower the tone and take the falling inflection. 

Father, forgive them — fbr— they knbw not-whkt— they db, 
Bofist not yourselves ofto-m6iTow— fbr ye kn6w not-what a 
d4y— may brfng fbrtlu 


W&tch— and be firm, for — on your stgps—aw^ts sCul-subdu ing 

Envy not"-the app&urance of hippiness in Sny one, for— thou 
kn6west not— his secret griefs. 

D6 not flatter yourself— with ihe £dea-of pi^rfectlikppiness, for— 

there is n6 sudh thing— in the w6rld. 
N6 man— shbuld be— t6o positive, f^r-ihe ivisest— is 6ften 


T&ke my yoke up6n you— and I^mh of me , fbr— ^ am mSek-. 
and 16wly. 

Plutarch skys v^ finely — that nb man should ^ow himself— 
to hkte^ven-his Enemies, fbr — if you indulge this passiouTon 

s6me occasions— it williise-'of its^lf^in 6tliers. 

He is h^thy-^becliuse— he is t^perote. 

S6me people— will nSver 16am Anything, because— fhey under- 
stand lYerything— t6o s6on. 

Wh^are the w6rks-of nature— so ,pMect ? Because— Ivery 
w6rk— is a wh61e; beckuse-^he n^ver deviates— from bne 
eternal plkn. 

Least, meaning the smallest either in size or degree, 
or having the force of the phrase, " to say no more," 
takes the rising inflection. 

*I am-the l^ast "of the ap6stles. 

The Rbmans'at l^ast — understbod liber tyas w^U as w^^ 


His f&culties — are nbt-i n the l^ast impftire<L 

Let (isef ul obsenr&tions b^at llast p&rt of your conyeraktioiL 

If he hits not inctoed a penalty, he at I^astr- des^nres censure. 

It is nbt pr&dent— to reward those - nyho l^t deserve it . 

Are we nbt bften— the Hast th6ughtful^ wh^n our situ&tion 
demiads— the iitmost s&rionsnesB? 

Who sterns prgud — w&nts at l^ast-^e 16ok-of ham&nity^ 

EYen the l^t variktion— in milking exp^riment8 "Tni!tst be 
c&refully observed, 

H^ who tempts, thbugh iny&in^ at l^ast asperses th e tempted— 
with dish6nour. 

Must takes the falling inflection, and is often em- 

We miist submit-to the l&ws, br be exp68ed to pihiishment. 

It m(ist-be sb, Pl&to— thba rfasonest w61L 

A mkn-~milst 8at for ndurishment — and miist sl^ep for refresh* 

When fSlly gr6w8 romSntic — we mhst p&int it. 

The m&gistrate — mbst have his reverence, and the Blws^heir 


An 61d man— miist be a fSther— to bear the f611ies'-and abs^ 
dities o f y6uth . 

Heaven and ^a rth—wiH witness, 

If Edme mfigt fkll-that we— are Innocent. 
Brutus. Wb^ f&rewell, Portia . We miist die, Messala. 
With meditating— that sh^ must die dnce, 
I h^Te the p&tienoe— to endiire it ndw. 

■ ■ ■ T ■ I II 

Except. The word except usually lowers the tone, 
Except — ye repent — ye shall kll likewise— perish. 
A'll— were inv61ved-in thk-affSir except 6ne. 
There is nb real use in riches except— in the distribiition. 

A11~the w6rds— compounded of hSre^&nd a preposition, except 
hereMer, are 6bsolete. 

Else. The word else takes the ordinary tone. 
Thou deslrest not-sScrifice, else— would I ^ve it. 

Repent, or else— I will come to thee— quickly. 

Of ch&nce or change, 6h ! l^t not-mSn compl&in, 
Else— shall he n^rer, n^yer c^aae— t.Q ^^sSu 


Unless. The word unless takes the ardinxrj ione. 

N6 man— can enjby h&ppiness— iinl^s— he thlnks^e enjoys it. 

It Is not engngh'-to sky prSyOTs —upl^— we live 11iem-to5. 

We c&nnot thrike— unless— we are frQgifl and indibtiious. 

He shkll not ^t of the h61y things iml^S8~~he T^h his flSsh- 
with w&ter. ' 

N6 man^-^can rise ahbve the inf irmities'of lak n&tore'-nml^ss'- 
assisted hy 66d. 

But. The member comm^cing with the word bitt is 

N6thing b^t triie religion— can give p^ace-in d^th . 

Be rich, biit— of yonr wlalth—mkke n6 par&de . 

Hkving the f6rm of g6dliness, biit den^ing-the p6wer therebf. 

H^ppiness—is nb where to be fSund —biMr- in the pr&ctice'of 

Mbst of our pleasures— are imiginary, but — our disquietudes* * 
are r^l. 

We jiidge of m^n, nbt— from the mSrit— which distinguishes 
tbSm, but— from the Interest— which gdvems (is. 


^Oft—she rejects, but never once—offiSnds. 
Gi6ws— asherSads, but tr^mble8~as he writes. 
Expgrience- "keeps a d^ar scbbol, but fools—will> l^am-nn n6 

Straws swIin""upon tbe siirface , b&t- ygarls Ke-^at the b6ttom . 
Comp^soDS in firgument -nnay sometimes ilii^stnate, but'-they 

c&nnot pr6ve. 
A s6ft kPSwer—tOmeth awkywrSth, biit grievous wbrds— stir 

Nbw abldeth flith, h6pe, chSiity ; But the grgatest't)f these *" 

is charity. 

For— whkt to shiin- nyill nb gr^at kaibwledgfi nied.; , 
Biit^nvhkt to f511ovr48 & t&k indeed. 
Such a mkn— might fkll a victim-to p6wer, but triith^ and 

reason, and liberty— would £&11 with himi 

In the following examples but is equivalent to the 
word only. 

If they kni us— we shkll'but die. 
He h&th not grieved me— but-in pftrtt 

There is n6ne g5od-but 5ne— thkt is— G6d « 

We tkke n6 note-of time but — from its 16ss. 

A f5rmidable mkn but— to his friends . 

Our light affliction — which is-but— for a m6ment. 

His prlcepts t6ach -btit whkt— his w5rks inspire. 

And mky ^e Srdent mind— that sdeks ren5wn» 
GSim nbt-the mSrtial— biit- ihe civic crbwiu 

Whb— can it b^ biit perjured L^con? 


Than usually lowers the tone, and frequently the 
member commencing with it* 

A c5untenance m6re in sorrow th&n in finger. 

Th5u art m6re rtghteous ^han ^I; I am n^ hStter ^hkn my 

Jblm"-wa8 grater thkn a prdphet. 

^t is more biased to giYe— thto to receive. 

The Ifist feor— shall be wSrse— thkn the first. 

We tkke llss pkms-^o b^ h&;^y— thito to appear so. 
He would m^e a b^ter sdldier— 3ikn sch^r. 

To commence a wkr— is much Easier— thkn to fhiish it. 

Oppr^ssion-Ts mbre Easily b6me— thkn insult. 

Ciceror-was m6re gloquent -^hkn &ny other-Roman. 

There is nbt— a m6re pl&aing ^xercise-of the min d— taka 

Virtue"-is m6re v51uable"^;hkn &ny other-aequfrement. 

N6t hiDg— can be mbre Smiable— thkn a cSnstant de8ire--to 

Nb whiter p&ge- thkn Addison's remains. 

Nbthing disgiists me 86oner — thkn the gmpty pomp*of Ito* 

B^tteirns a dinner of h^rbs-^where ISye ir ^thkn a stilled 
and h&tted therewith. 


It c6sts men m6re to be miserable— thkn it w6iild • do--to 
make them—p^rfectly h&ppy. 

F6olish men— axe m6re Spt to consider whkt they have 168t— 

than whkt — they possess . 
N6thing— m6re eng&ges and retSins— the affections of men — 

thkn a h&ndsome addrfes— and a graceful conversation. 

That. When the word that is demonstratiye, or a 
substitute for a clause or a sentence, it takes a suspensive 
falling inflection. 

And when M6ses h^ard th&t— he was content. 
The w6man— was m&de wh51e— from th&t hour. 

The Greeks-had defeated the Turks -I h^ard thkt. 
You allege— that the m^— is innocent ; thkt— h^ is n6t. 

Ye defr&ud- and thkt- your brethren . 

We spSak-thkt— we do kn6w— and t^stify-thllt— we have s^en. 

The vital faculty — is thkt— by whkh life— is pressed. 

Thkt— was the trilie Ifg ht— that lighteth ^very man — that 

c6meth— into the w6rid. 
Thkt— thou d6est— db quickly. H61d fast— thkt— which is g6od. 

The ckuse of c6mmon grror -'is-the crediil ityof m^n ; thSt is, 
an ^y assent— to whl^— is obtriided. 

I will kn5w your business, thkt— 1 "^r^LV, 



The particles in opposition refer to something present 
or near in place or time, to a word> phrase, or sentence. 

Th^se nervous b6Tct, thdse Ihigmd' and' remiss. 

Thhe ybu'but 8nger- " and joa mgnd not tMsfSk 

If the Lbrdwfll— weshaU live, and dh thU-or tfM, 

As <^a^-the b5dy — ^^Ig- ensl&ved-iiie mind. 

Their jiidgment in thh ^-we mdt/ not—and m. thdt—we ,nSed 
not f6llow. 

Triith kere-ns tiimed into vision thire. 

Dirkness thSre-nmgkt wSi seem twilight hh'e. 

S^me plkee-the hllssHin dction, s^me-'m iase . 
Those ckll it'pliasurer^&nd. contentment th^se. 

SSlf -love, the spring of m6tion ^ cLcts the sSul ; 
Reason's comparing bSlance~~ru/«^ the wh61e : 
M^ htlt"for th&tf nb dction —could attend ; 
And but— for thU, were Active— to nb^nd. 
This ^ge— to blSssom, and the n^xt" to biar, 

Imitdtion'^B inferi6rity confessed; emuldtumr ia 8aperi6rity 
contested or denied ; imitdtion^ns servile, hnulation gener- 

ous; th&t fitters, th\s fires; tMir-mAj gfve-a n&me, thlsr 
a n^me immdrtal. 
The lessr ^wQ c6py the renowned Sncaentg ^n^e shall resemble 
them the m&re. 




A p&rk is a 14rge enclcSsure, surrSunded with a hfgh w^ 
and stocked with ySrious kinds of g&me, especially be&ts of 
chise. The principal of ih^ are dSer and h&res. There 

are thr^ species of d^er, which run wfld, or are k^pt in 
p&rks, in the British Islands, the st&g, h&rt, or tM deer ; the 
fjOlow deer ; and the rdehuck. The stag or hart is a peaceful 
and harmless animal. I£s graceful form, his airj motio% 

and the S,mple branches that ad6m rather than defend his 
he^ added to his size, str&ig^h, and swiftness, render him 

one of the m6st llegant, if not one of the m6st (iseful quadra* 
peds. He is y&tj dMicate in the choice of his fdod, which 
consists p^urtly of gr&ss, and partly of the y6ung br^ches an4 
th5ots of tr^s. When s&tisfied with e&ting, he retires to 
some c5yert or thicket to chew the c&d : but his rumination is 

performed with grater difficulty than that of the c6w or shSep, 
and is attended with a sort of Mocup during the whdle time it 
c6ntiauee. ilLi seiueB of sm^ and he&ring ^e extrtoely. 
acutd. It 13 liingUAar iLat the stag is \aanai8ii wa ^^ '^(:>&> 


numerous enemies of the fiwn, and that the female is obliged 
to exert all her &rt to protect her young frbm him. 

The f&llow deer is sm^er and less robiist than the stkg, 
and has brSad instead of rdund branching hdms, which, 
like all m^le quadrupeds of the s^me tribe, it renews ^very 

y^ar. F^ow deer axe seldom found wild, being generally 

bred in pirks, and kept for the amiisement and luxury of 
the gr^at. They have a grSat dislike to the rSd deer, with 
which they will neither br^ed, nor h^rd in the sime place. 
They also frequently quarrel among themselves for some 
fav6iu:ite spbt of pasture groxmd, and, divided into tw6 parties, 
headed by the 61dest and strongest deer of the flbck , attack 
each other in the most perfect order, and even renew the 
c5mbat for several dkys, till the weaker party is forced to 

. The rdebuck 19 the smallest of the British deer, and is 
now almost extinct in th^se islands ; the few that are left 
being chiefly confined to the Sc6ttish Highlands. It is 
exceedingly fl^et, and sc&rcely less sagS,cious. Its mode of 
eluding pursiiit proves it to be f^ m6re cunning than the 

stdg ; for, instead of continuing its flight straight f6rward, it 

confounds the scent by retracing its own tr^ck, and then 
making a great bound to 6ne side ; dfter which it lies flat 

and m5tionless till the dogs and men pass b^. The roebucks 

do not herd in flocks, like the r^st of the de^r kind, but live 

in flmiliesy each m^e with his favourite female and her 

The hkre is a v^ry timid animal ; and its fears are almost 
jiistified by the niimber of its Enemies. Ddgs, e^ts, weasels, 

LS880K8. 167 

birds of pr^y, and, last and wdrst, mankind, persecute it 
with6at pity. Butj in 86me degr^ to b&ffle its foes, nature 
has endowed it widi great fle^tness, and a good sh^e of 
sag&city. Its muscles are strdtig, with6ut f^t, and formed 
^or swiftness ; it has l&rge pr6minent eyes, placed b&ckwards 
on its h^ad, so that it can almost see behind it as it rdns ; 

and its ears are capable of being directed towards ^very 
quarter, and are so formed that they readily catch the 
slightest sound. Instinct teaches it to choose its form in 
places where the surr6unding bbjects are nearly of the colour 
of its own bddy. The hare may be turned, and is then a 
frolicsome and ami^ing animal. 

All tljiese animals are mentioned in Scripture. The hSre 
was unclean by the Jewish law. Asahel, JoaVs brother, was 
as *' light of foot as a wild roe.^ Part of the daily provision 
for king Salomon's table, consisted ci *'h^9, r6ebucks, and 
fBllow deer." And David thus be&utifully expresses his 
eager desire for the service of the Ldrd : " As the hart 
pknteth for the w^ter brboks, so p^teth my soul afler th^e, 
O G6d." ~ 



O Gdd of B^el ! by whbse hknd 

Thy people stfll are f (6d ; 
Who thrgugh this ^^^afy pDgrim age 

Hast all ovr others IM: 



Our t6w8, out pr&y'ra , we now present 

Before thy thr6ne of griSioe : 
Gdd of our f Others ! be the G5d 

Of th^ir succe^ng rkce. 

Through each perpl^ng path of life 

Our w&nd'ring footsteps g^ide ; 
Give us each day our diily brekd. 

And rkiment fit provide. 

O ! spread thy cov'ring whigs ar6undy 
Till Sll our wknd'rings c^ase, 

And at our Father's lov'd abbde 

Our 86uls ai*rive in p^ce. 

Sftch blessing s from thy gr&cious hknd 

Our hiimble pr&y'rs impl6re ; 
And thbu shalt be our chdden G6d 
And p6rtion ^verml^. 



This iiseful animal, the gdneral height of which is about 
f5ur fe^t and a hlSit, is to be found in most of the n6rthem 
regions of the 61d and n^w world. . It has 16ngy slander, 
brindled hbrns ; those of the mlUe are mdch the l&rgest. 
In colour it is brown ab6ve and white beneftdr : but it 6ften 

^ LESSONS. 169 

becomes of a grayish white as it advices in ftge. It consti- 
tutes the wh61e wealth of the Laplanders, and supplies tc 
'them the place of the h^rse, the c6vr, the sh^p, and the 
g6at. Alive or d^ad, the rein deer is equally subservient to 
their w^. When it ceases to Hve, spoons axe m9Ae ofjts 
bdnes, glue of its h6ms , bowstrings and thrSad of its tendons, 
clothing of its skin, and its fl^h becomes a s&vourj food* 
During its life, its milk is converted into cheese, and it is 
employed to convey its 6wner over the sn6wy wastes of his 
n&tive country. Such is the swiftness of this rSce, that tw5 
of them, yoked in a sludge, will travel a hundred and twelve 
English miles in a d&y . The slMge is of a c^ous construc- 
tion, formed s6mewhat in the shkpe of a b$at, in which the 
trILveller is tied like acldld, and which, if attempted to b e 
guided by any person unacciistomed to it, would Instantly be 
overset. A Laplander, who is rich, has often more than a 
thdusand r^ deer. 

The p&ce of the :r^ deer, which it can keep up for a 
wfa51e dkjf is rather a trdt than a bodqding. Its hdofs are 
el6ven and movable, so that it spreads them abr6ad as it 
g6es, to prevent its sinking in the sndw ; and as the knimal 
moves aldng, they are heard to crack with a pretty I6ud 

In sCbnmer, these animals feed on various kinds of pldnts, 

and siek the highest hills, for the ptlrpose of av^ding the 
g&d-fly, which at that period deposits its eggs in their skin, 
and that to such an endrmous extent, that skins are fr^uently 
found as full of h61ec as a c61ander. Many die firom this 
cause. In winter, their food consists of the lk.hfe\i>^ ^VM&>>^<e\ 


dig from beneath the Bi\6vr with thdr aatlors and f§et. 
When the snbw is t6o deep for them to obt^n this plant, they 

resort to andther species of it which hangs cm pine trees; 
and, in severe seasons , the boors often cut down some thou- 
sands of these tr^es to furnish subsistence to their h^rds. 
Attempts have been made, but hitherto with6\it success, tu 

naturalize the rein deer in £ngland. 




When life is forgot, and night hath p6wer^ 

And morals £4el n^ dr^ad ; 
When silence and sliimber rule the houTy 

And dreams are r6uiid the h^ad • 

God shall smite the ^urst-bom of Egypt's r&ce, 
The destr6yer shall ^nter each dwelling^place^rr* 
Shall ^nter and chSose his de^. 

*^ To your homes,'* said the leader of Israel's h6st, 

** An d sl&ughter a sficrifice ; 
" Let the life-bl p^d be sprinkled on each do6r pbst , 

** Nor stir till the morning arise : 
** And the angel of vengeance shall p&ss you b^, 
•* He shall se e the r^d stkin, and shMl not coime nigh, 

*^ Where the hope of yow household lies.'' 


The people h^ar, and they bbw them I6w— • 
Each to his hduse hath fl6wn : 

The Lamb is sl^n, and with bl6od they gb, 

And sprinkle the lintel stone ; 
And the doors they cldse when the siin hath s^t^ 
But fSw in oblivious sleep forget 

The judgment to be d6ne. 

' Tis midnight — yet they hSar d6 sl^und 

Along the Ibne still street ; 
Nd blkst of pestilence sweeps the ground, 

No trdmp of uneJrtMy feet ; 

Nor rdsh as of h&rpy wing g5cs by. 

But the dUm m6on fldats on the cl6udless sky, 
'Mid her w^ light cl&ur and fw^et. 

Once 6nly, shbt like an jUrowy r&y, 

A p^o blue ii&sh was s^en, 
It pass'd so swifty the 6ye scarce could sfiy 

That s uch a thfng had b^n ; 

' " ' ' ' — ^— 11 ■—■ I »« H I I I — ■ .1 I ^ 

■ ■^ - 

Yet the beat of every heart was still , 
And the Hesh crawled feilrfuUy and chill, 
And back flowed ijvery v4in. 

The courage of Israel's br{ivest quail'd 

At the view of that awful Ifght, 
Though knowing the blood of their offering avail'd 

To shield them from its might : 


They fHt 'twas the Spirit of D^th had pi^ 

That the brightness they saw his c61d glance had cSst 

On Egypt's land that night. 

That his fearful eye had unw&m'd striick dbwn. 

In the darkness of the grkve. 
The h6pe of that Empire , the prfde of its crftwti, 

' The^first«bom of 15rd and slftve;— 

The Idvely, the tender, the ^ent, the g &y ; 

Where &re they ? — all wlther'd in Ibhes awiy^ 
At the terrible d^th«glare it gftve. 

From the c5aches of sliimber ten thdnsaad cries 
Burst f6rth - 'nnd the nlence of dr^ad— 

The yduth by his living brbther lies 
Sightless, and diimb, and deftd ! 

The infant lies c51d at his m5ther*s br&uty 

She had kiss'd him afireas she sank to rht. 

She aw^ens — his life hath fl^d. 

And shrieks from the palace-chSmbers br^ak— - 

Their Inmates are steeped in w6y 
And Phiraoh had found his arm too wSak 

To arrgst the mighty blbw ; 
wail, king of the Pyramids ! Egypt's thrgne 
Oumot lighten thy heftrt of a single g^^an* 

For thy kingdom's h^ir laid 16^ 

LESSONS. 1 73 

Wfiil, king of the pyramids ! Death hath cast 

His shafts thrbugh thine Empire wide, 
But o*er Israel in bondage his rage hath pSst, 

Not first-bom of h^ hath died — 
Go, S&trap ! commAnd that the c&ptive be fr^e, 

Lest their God in fierce linge r shoqid smite even thee, 
On the crown of thy piirple prides 



The nightingale is n6t rem^kable for the variety or rich- 
ness of its tints; the tipper part of the body being of a rusty 
brown, tlng^ with 61ive; and the tinder parts of an hh 
colour, inclining to white about the thr5at and b^y. Its 

miisic, however, b exceedingly sbft and harmdnious, and is 
stfll more pleasing as being heard in the night, when kll the 

6ther w^blers are silent. 

The Exquisite melody of this and 5ther British birds, com- 
pared with the plainness of their appearance, is an imprtoive 
proof of the g6odness of the Cre&tor, in the imp&rtial distri- 
bution of his benefits to the feathered tribes. The birds of 
5ther climates may, indeed, delight the eye b y the sp lendid 
richness of their colours, and the gl6wing variety of their 
tints;, yet it b the warblers of Europe aldne, that are endowed 
with that pleasing power of song, which gives so peciiliar # 

chilrm to our groves and w6ods. 



The nightingale visits England in the beginning of A'pril, 
and generally retires in Aiigust, It is found only in sbme of 
the 's6uthern parts of England, chiefly in Devon and C6mwall, 


and is t6tally unknown in Ireland, Scotland, and ^Y^s ; and 
as it generally keeps in the middle of its f&vourite biish or tree, 

it is but r&rely seen. The female constructs her nest of the 
leaves of trSes, strlLw, and m5ss, and usually lays f6ur or five 
^gs; but it seldom happens, in ojir climate, that kll these 

come to matiirity. While she performs the d uty of incub&tiop, 

the male sits on some adjILcent branch, to cheer the tedious 
hours by his harmonious v6ice, or, by the shOrt interruptions 
of his song, to give her tfmely n5tice of approaching dinger. 
In a wild state, the nightingale does not, in general, sing 

above t^n w^eks in the y^ ; but those confined in a cage 
may, with care and attention, be induced to continue their 

melody for nine or t^n m6nths. 




Sl6w glides the Nile ; amid the margin fl^gs, 
Closed in a bCdrush irk, the bkbe is left,^ 

Mft by a mother's hknd. His sister wkits 
F4r off; and pSIe, 'tween hgpe and feftr, beholds 
The royal m^d, surr6unded by her trSin, 
Approach the river bltnk,— approach the spot 
Where sleeps the innocent ; she sees them st6op 


With meeting plumes ; the riishj lid is 6pe'dy 
And wakes the infant smilins: in his te^s, 

As when al6ng a little m6untain lake. 

The Slimmer s6uth wind breathes, with gentle s fgh, 

And pkrts the r^eds, unveiling as they b^nd , 

A wSter-lily floating on the w&ve. 



All the numerous and beautiful varieties of the pigeon 
tribp, which, like the d6g, the h6rse, and 6ther domestic 

animals, have br^ched into an ilmost Endless varietv of 

y ■ ^ — 0* > » I II ■ ■ I ■ ■ ■ ■ -■ ■■ >■■■»■■!■■ ■ — ■ *f ■ ■ I — 

kinds, f$rm8, and c51ours, derive their origin from the w6od- 
pigeon or st6ck-dove ; which is of a deep bluish ^h-cblour ; 
the breast dashed with a fine changeable green and pilrple ; 
the wings marked with tw6 bMck b&rs ; the bS-ck white ; and 
the tSil barred near the end with blick. Such are the colours 
of the pigeon in its natural stkte ; and from these simple tints, 
the efli^cts of domestication, have produced a variety, that 
words cannot describe, nor even fjncy suggest. 

The principal varieties of this numerous family are, the 
fSn-tail, the pouter, the niin, the drigon, the tiimbler, the 
Gorier, the tiir tie-dove, and the ring-dove. 

The filn-tail receives its n^me from the singular property 
it possesses of erecting its long t&il-feathers at pleasure, and 
extending them in the fbrm of a f^. The pdut^^ or pdutipg 


honemaiiy is sb called from the ciirious appearance of its cr&w, 

which it can inflate at will, and extend to a considerable size. 
The nCbi has its head bordered or surroiinded with smdil 
feithers, which it possesses the power of erecting, and which 

then asstime the appearance of a h6od. The drftgon is dis- 
ting^hed by thkt part of its h^ad immediately above the bill 
being covered with curious w^y kind of excrescences ; the 
feathers of its briast also are of a g^^en cblour, beautifully 
intermixed with bide. The tdmbler flies Idwest of the pigeon 
family, and is peculiar for the many sdmerset kind of turns it 
takes in the c5urse of its flight. 

The cftrrier is distinguished from 211 bthers by a br6ad 
circle of nkked white skin which surr6unds the ^yes; and 
by the colour of the pl&mage, which is of a d&rk bl&ey inclin- 
ing to bl&ck. From th eir att&chment to their n&tive place, 
t>r to their y5ung, these birds are employed in several cduntries, 
as the m6st expeditious carriers of letters ; and formerly they 
were c6mmonly iised in carrying letters from place to place in 
lime of w&r, and in case of sieg es, when all 6ther means of 
oomm unidLtion were intercepted, or cut 6S by the ^nemy. 
These birds have been known to fly seventy-tw5 miles in tw5 
hburs and a hftlf. 

The t{krtle-dove is smaller than the c5mmon pigeon, and is 
distinguished by the ySllow circle of the lye, andby abeaiitiful 
crimson circle that enc5mpasses the dye-lids. The n6te of 
this bird is singularly tender and plaintive. In iddresnng 
his mSte, the mUe makes use of avarie^of wlnnii^ ftttitudet, 
c6oing at the skme time in the most gSntle and ^tdd&img 
accents. On this account, the tiirtle-dove has been repretS&tadf 


^° Sll ages, as the m6st perfect Sxnblem of conniiblal attach* 
ment and cdnstancj. 

The lin^ioye derives its appellation from a beautiful white 
circle r5und the n^ck. This bird builds its n^t with a f(6w 
dr jp sticks, in the boughs of tr^es ; and is so str6ngly attached 
to its nitive fr^dom, thait all attempts to domesticate it have 
hitherto pr6ved ineffi^ctual. 

There are m&iy other varieties of this extensive family ; 

but they are not so strdngly or so pec&liarly marked, as to 
need any separate description. Wild pigeons are migratory, 
and are found in m^st parts of the wbrld. 

The dbve is very much spoken of in the Bible. It was a 
d6ve which N6ah sent out of the &rk, to ascertain whether 
the w&ters of the flbod had abftted. This burd was accounted 
d^an by the law of Mdses, and was appointed, in certain 
circumstances , to be offered up in sacrifice. It formed bne of 
the articles of merchandize, which the priests permitted to be 
sold in the temple to those who came from a dis tance, and 
the triUBc in which, within the courts of G6d'8 hbuse, pro* 
yoked the h6ly indign&tion of our S&riour. The Psfilmist 
says of those who are restored by G6d'8 mgrqr, that **they 
shall be as the wfngs of a d6ve, covered with silver , and her 
feathers with yellow g61d." The J^ws, when lamfating the 
c alamit ie s they were siiffering for their sins, are represented 
by Is^ah, as ** mourning s6re like dftves,* * alluding to the 
pl2intiye ncnse of ihe ti^e-dove when deprived of its mftte. 
We are told in Matthew iii ., 15, that ''the Spirit of God 
descended like a dgve , and lighted upon J^sus.** And when 
Christ was giving his disciples advice with respect to the 


mknner in which they should conduct themselves in the midst 
of their Enemies, he sfiid, " Be ye^therefore wis e^,^ serpents 
and hornless as d6yes/' — that is, act with the pHdence and 
skill of s&pents ; but, at the s5me time, cultivate the innocence 
and simplicity of the dove. 




S6und the 16ud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark s^a! 
Jeh6vah hath triumph'd — ^his people are fr^e. 
Sing — for the pride of the tyrant is brdken, 

His chariots and h6rsemen^ all splendid and brSve, 

How v^n was their blasting 1 The L6rd hath but spoken^ 

And ch^ots and h6rsemen are siUik in the wkve. 

I — 


Sound the 16ud timbrel o'er Egypt's d&rk s^a ; 
Jeh6vah has triumph'd — ^his people are fr^e ! 

Praise to the C6nqueror, pridse to the L6rdy 

His word was our ^row, his breath was our sw6rd ! 

Wh6 shall retiim to tell Fgypt the st6ry 

Of thbse she sent f6rth in the hour of her pride ? 

For the Lord hath look'd 6ut from his pillar of gldrjy 
And ^U her br&ve thousands are d&sh'd in the tide, 

A • 

S6und the 15ud timbrel o'er Egypt's dirk s^ ; 
Jeh6vah has triumph'd — ^his people are frfee I 




The sMmon seems confined, in a grSat measure, to itke 
'n6rthern seas, being unknown in the Mediterranean, and 
in the wILters of 6ther wSrm climates. It lives in fr^h as 
well as in s^lt waters, fSrcing itself in aiitumn up the rivers, 
sometimes for htindreds of miles, for the purpose of depositing 
its sp&wn. In th^se peregrinations salmon are caught in 
gr^&t numbers, which supply our markets and tables. Intent 
only on the object of their j6umey, they spring up cataracts, 

and over 6th er obstacles of a v^ gr^t height. This extra- 
6rdinary power seems to be owing to a sudden jerk, which the 
fish gives to its body, from a bent into a str^ght position. 
When they are unexpectedly obstructed in their pr5gress, it 

is said they swim a few paces b&ck, survey the dbject for some 
minutes mdtionless, retreat, and return again to the ch^ge : 
then, collecting Ml their fbrce, with one ast6nishing spring, 

' overleap ^very obstacle. When the water is low, or sand- 
banks intervene, they throw themselves on one side, and, in 
that position, soon work themselves 5ver into the d^ep wkter 
bey6nd. On the river L!ffey , a f^w miles ab6ve Dublin, 

there is a cataract about nineteen feet high ; and here, in the 

salmon season, many of the inhabitants amiise themselves in 

observing the fish leap up the t6rrent. They fall bick m^y 

times before they surm6unt it ; and baskets, made of twigs, 

are pISced near the edge of the strSam, to c&tch them in their 


When the salmon have arrived at a pr6per p lace for sp&wn- 
ing in, the male and female unite in forming, in the sand or 
gravel, a pr6per reception for their ^ggs, ahout Eighteen 
inches d^ep, which thej are also supposed afterwards to cover 
(ip. In this hole, the eggs lie untfl the ensuing spring, if not 
displaced by the fl5ods, before they are hatched. The parents, 
however, after their spawning , become extremely emaciated, 
and hasten to the s&lt witter. Towards the ^nd of M^h, 

■ — ■ -^ r ■ 

the y6ung fry begin to app^ ; and, gr&dually increasing in 
size, become, in the beginning of M&y, five or six inches in 
llngth, when they are called sMmon snj^lts. They now 
swarm in mjh^iads, in the rivers ; but the first flood sweeps 
them down into tbe Jla^ scarcely leaving finy behhid. About 
ihe middle of Jiine, the largest of these begin to return into 

the rivers ; they are now become of the length of twflve or 
sixteen inches. Towards the end of Julj^ , they weigh firom 

six to nine pounds eftch. The fdod of the salmon consists of 
the sm^ler fishes, insects, and wdrms ; for £11 these are used 
with success as baits by the finglers of sklmon. 

History of Wonderful Fishei. 



When Israel, of the L5rd beldyed, 
Out from the land of bondage cftme. 

Her father's G6d befSre her m5ved, 
An &w{ul guide in smSke and flime* 


By dkj al5ng the a8t5mslied Iknds 

The cl5udj pillar glided slow ; 
By night Ar&hia's crlmson'd shnds 

Retiirn'd the fi^ry pillar's gl6w« 

There rose the ch6ral hymn of prfiise. 
And trtop and timbrel answered k^ ; 

And Zfon's daughters poured their Mys, 
With priest's and w&rrior's vbice betw^n. 

No p5itent8 nbw onr f5es amSze^ 
Fors^en Israel waders 15ne ; 

Our fathers wgnld not knbw Th^ wSys, 
And thbu hast 1^ them to their 6^n. 

But pr^nt stilly though n5w nnsSen ; 

When brightly shines the prgsperotg dky. 
Be th6nght8 of thee a cl6udy scrtoi 

To temper the deceitful rity. 
And 6h ! when strops on Jiidah's pSth 

In sh&de and st6rm the frequent n%ht, 
Be thbu, Igng-snff'ring, slbw to wrSth, 

A burning and a shining light : 

Our harps we left by B&bel's strums. 

The t^ant's j to, the Gentile's sc6m , 
No c6nser romid our altar b^ams, 

And miite are timbrel, trfimp, and h6m : 
But th6u hast said,—" The bldod of ggat, 

The fl^h of rSms I wUl not prize ; 
A o5ntrite hekrt, and hiimble thought, > 

Are mine accepted 8kcri£fie«" - 




The h^ad of tlie cod fish is sm6oth ; tke colour on the back 
and sides is of a d&skj olive, y^iegated with yellow 8p6t8 ; 
its belly is white ; the lilteral line runs from the gills to the 
tdil, which at the abd6men is curved, but ^ewhere is str^ght; 
its scales are v6ry small, and adhere firmly to the skin ; its 
roes are l&rge ; at the angle of the lower jaws there hangs a 
single beard, which isshdrt, seldom exceeding a finger's 
length ; its tongue is br6ad ; it has sey^al rows of t^eth, like 
the pike ; and in the palate, near the 5rifice of the st5mach, 
and near the gills, it has sm&ll cliisters of t^eth. It has thr6e 
bick fins, tw6 at the gills, and tw6 at the b rgast , and tw6 
near the tiil. 

These fish are found 5nly in the seas of the n6rthem ptos 
of the wbrld ; and the prfudpal places of rendezvous are the 
sand-banks of Newfoiindland, Nova Sc5tia, and New England. 
These shallows are their favourite situations, as they abound 
with w6rms, a kind of food that is peciUiarly grkteful to them. 

An6ther cause of their attachment to these places is their 
vicinity to the Polar s^as, where they return to sp&wn. 
There they deposit their roes in f611 security, and afterwards 
repair, as soon as the more southern seas are 6pen, to the 
banks for subsistence ; consequently, the c6d may j^tly be 
placed at the head of the migrating or w&ndering tribes of 


fish. F^w are taken n5rth of Iceland, and the shdals never 
reach so tar sbnth as the strata of Gibr&ltar. 

LESS0N6. 183 

Previous to the discbvery of Newfoiindland, the principal 


fisheries for cod were in the seas 6S Iceland, and bff the 
western islands of Sc6tland. To the f6rmer of these the 

English resorted for nearly f6iir centuries, and had n6 fewer 
than one hundred and fifty vessels empl6yed in the Iceland 
fishery in the reign of James I. The hook and line are the 
dnly implements which are used in taking this fish, and they 
are caught in from sixteen to sixty fkthoms wS,ter. Fifteen 
thousand British seamen are employed in this fishery. An 
exp6i^ hand will sometimes catch f6ur hundred in a d&y. 

The c6d is one of the most prolific of the fish ^ibe. In 
the roe of only a nuddling sized cod there have been cdunted 
more than nine millions of ^ggs. They begin to €pawn in 
J^uary in the European seas. Their principal food consists 
of the smaller species of fish, worms, shSll-fish, and cr&bs ; 
and their stSmachs are capable of dissolving the gr^test part 
of the sh^ that they swkllow. They grow to a gr^at size. 
The Ingest cod that was Sver taken weighed seventy-eight 
p5unds, and was five feet eight inches in length. 




Thfis far on life's perplexing pkih, 

Thus fkr the Lord our steps hath ISd, 

Skfe from the world's pursiiing wrkth, 

Unharmed though floods hun^ q'^t QiV3xV!&^ 


Here then we pftuse, look b& ck, ad6re » 
Like r&ngom'd Israel firbm the sh^. 

Stringers and pllg^ms here belbw, 
As 4M our f&thers in their diljy 

We to a l^d of prdmise g6, 

LOrdy b y thine {wn appointed ^j ; 

Still guide, ilKimine, chler our fKght, 

In cloiid by diiy, in fire by night. 

Protect us through this wilderness, 

From serpent, pldgue, and hostile rkge ; 

With bread from hgaven our table bl^ss. 
With Hying streams our thirst assuQge ; 

Nor let our rSbel hearts iiepbiei 

Or follow Sny Tolce but Thine, 

Thy righteous law to us proclaim, 
But nbt from SInai'e top al5ne : 

Hid on the rdck'Hsleft b^ thy n&me, 

Thy pdwer, and fill thy gOodness shdwn ; 
And may we nerer bbw the kn6e 
To &ny other g5ds but Th^« 

Thy presence with us,-moye or r^st ; 

And as the ^agle, o'er her br6od, 
Flutters her pinions, stirs the n^ 

C6vers, defends, provides them f6o^ 
Bears on her wings, instrticts to fl jp, 
Thus, thils prepare us for the sk^. 


When we have niimber'd all our ySars, 

And stand at length on Jdrdan's brink . 
Though the fl^h fail with hiknan f^ars. 

Oh ! let not then the spirit shrhik ; 
But strong in flith, and h5pe, and 15ve, 
riiinge t hrough the strain, to rise ab6ve. 




P^ak cavern is one of those sublune works of nftture, which 
constantly excite the wonder and admiration of their beh61ders. 
It li^ in the vicinity of C&stleton, and is appr6ached by a 
path along the side of a d^ar rivulet, leading to the fissure, 
or. separation of the r6ck, at the extr^mityofwhich the 

cavern is situated. It would be difficult to imagine a scene 
m6re aug^t than thkt which presents itself to the visitor at 
its Entrance. On iach side, the hfige g^^y rucks rise Slmost 
str&ight ftp to the height of n^ly thr^e himdred fSet, or 
about s6ven times the neight of a m6dem hduse, and, meeting 
each other at right or cr5ss angles, form a dSep and gldomy 
recess. In frSnt, it is overhung by a vdst canopy of r6ck, 
assuming the appearance of a depressed &rch, and extending 
in width, 6ne hiindred and twenty feet ; in height, forty-tw6 ; 
and in receding d^pth , abbnt ninety. After penetrating 
about ninety feet into the citvem, the roof becomes I6wer 
and a gentle descent llads, by a detadv^x<S<:^V^V^ '^Oaj^ferss^^ 


entrance of this tremendous hbllow. H^e the light of day, 
iiaving grSdnally diminished, wholly disappears; and the 
visitor is provided with a torch to light him in his i&r&er 

The passage bow becoming extremely confined, he is 
obliged to proc^d, in a 8t56ping posture , about twenty y&rds, 
when he reaches a Idrge 6pening, named the B^U-house, and 
is thence led to a small Ikke, called the First Water, about 
f6rty feet in length, but no more than tw6 or thrSe feet in 
depth. Over this he is conveyed in a boat to the interior of 
the civem, beneath a missive vault of rock, which in 66me 
p^ts descends to within eighteen or twenty inches of the 
'wd,ter. On landing, he enters a spacious ap^ment, 220 feet 
in length, 200 feet in briadth, and in some parts 120 feet in 
height, opening into the bdsom of the rbck ; but, from the 
wSnt of light, neither the distant sides, nor the r6of of this 
abyss, can be s^en. In a passage at the Inner extremity of 
this cave, the stream which flows through the wh61e leng th 
of the cavern, spreads into what is called the Second Water; 
and, near its termination, is a projecting pile of r6cks, known 
by the appellation of Roger R&in's house, &om the inc^sant 
fall of water in l&rge drops through the crSvices of the r6of • 
Bey6nd this, opens an6ther tremendous hollow, called the 
Chincel, where the rocks are miich br6ken, and the sides 
covered with petrified incrustations. The path now leads to 
a place called H^lf-way House, and thence, by thr^e nStnral 
and re gular krch es, to a v&st clivity, which, from its imiform 
bSU'like apper jrance is called Gr6at Tom of Lincoln. From 


this pbint the yault gradually desc^nds^ the passage contracts, 
and at length does not leave more than sufficient room for 
the current of the stream, which continues to flow through a 
suhterr^neous channel of several miles in extent, as is proved 
by the small stones brought into it, after great rains, from 

the distant ruins of the P^k Forest, 

The ^titire length of this wonderful c5.vem is 2,25Q feet, 
nearly h4lf a mile ; and its depth, from the surfd<;e of the 
Plak Mounta in, about 620 feet, A curious effect is produced 
by the expl6sion of a small quantity of giinpowder, wedged 
into the r6ck in the interior of the cavern; for the sound 
appears to r6ll along the roof and sides, like a tremendous 
and continued peal of thtinder. 

CLAfite's Wonders, 



Birds, j6yoiifl birds of the wSndering whig ! 
Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring ? 
— " We oome from the shores of the grSen old Nile, 
From the land where the r6se8 of Sh&ron smile, 
From the palms that wave through the Tndian skf. 
From the myrrh-tr^es of gl6wing * Araby. 

*' We have swgpt o'ei^ the eities in song rendwn'd. 
Silent tfiey lie with the deserts rdoxui I 


We have crossed pr6ad rfyers, whose tide hath r511'd 
All d&rk with the warrior blood of did ; 
And each worn wing hath re gained its h6me. 
Under peasant's r6of-tree or mSnarch's ddme 

And wh&t have ye found in the mSnarch's dbme . 
Since 14st ye traversed the blue sea's foam ? 

— ** We have found a ch&nge, we have found a p&Q, 
And a gl5om o'ershadowing the banquet h&U, 
And a mark on the floor, as of life-drop s spilt. 

Nought looks the s^me, save the n^t we bikilt I" 
Oh! j6yous birds, it hath stfll been so ; 

Through the halls of kings doth the tempest gd ! 
£ut the huts of the hamlet lie still and dlep, 

*^ M.^ »■■ ■■■^■■1 

And the hills o'er their quiet a yJgH k^p, — 
S&y whiit have ye found in the peasant's c5t , 
Since Ifist ye parted from that sw6et spbt ? 

— ** A change we have found there — and mdny a ch^i^get 
F&ces, and fSotsteps, and Sl\ things strdnge I 

G6ne are the heads of the silvery hair, 

And the young that w^ have a brow of cSre, 

And the place is hiish'd where the children pl&y*d. 
Nought looks the s&ne, save the ndst we m^e Y^ 

Sftd is your tale of the beaiitifiil ^th, 
Birds that o'ersweep it, in p5wer and mirth! 


T^ through the w&tes of the trSckless hivp 

Yb haye a Gfiide, and shall wfi de^iir ? 
Ye oyer desert and d&p haye pftss'd. 

So may WB reaxkk our br%ht hbme at Ubt ! 





Our visit to one of the c6al-pits in the neighbourhood of 
Newcastle was rather a drdll adventure. The first ceremony 
was to put on a kind of fr6ck, which oovered us &I1 6ver, to 
preyent our clothes &om being spdiled. We were th6n shown 
a prodigiously 14rge st^am-engine at work at the m5uth of 
the pity in order to drain off the w&ter, and cl6se to it a 
ventilator for purifying the &ir. Our guides now seated us 
upon a piece of board, slung in a ^pe like the seat of a swing, 

and hooked to an Iron chkin, which was let gently dbwn the 
suffocating hole by the assistance of sfz h6rses. I miist 
eonf^, I did not like this mode of travelling ^^ my spirits, 
however, were r&ther cheered, when I reached the s61id bbt- 
tom, and saw my g6od friend Fr&nklin, with a smiling fSLce, 

at my side. He congratulated me on my arrival, and pdinted 
to a bilge fire burning in order to keep up the necessary 
ventil&tion. Gaining comrag e by a nearer examination, my 
brother and I w&iked about the chambers with as miich ease, 
as if they had been the ap&rtiments of a dw^ling*hbuse. The 
o6al is hollowed out in spaces of f6u£ 'j«td& ^V^^X^Scv^ssc^ 




which are left pillars of coal to support the roc^, t^ yards 
br6ad and twSnty d^p. After explbring a d6zen or two of 
these little apartments , our curiosity was s&tisfied, as thei^ was 
n6thing more to be s^en, but a repetition of the s&me objects 
to a T&st extent. A number of hdrses live here for ylars 
together, and s^em to enjoy themselves very cdmfortablj: \ 
they are empl6yed to draw the coal through the subterraneous 
passages, to the b6ttom of the 6pemng of the p!t. The 
machine which raises the coal to the siirface of the earth, is 
worked by stdut hbrses. The coal is brought in str6Dg 
baskets made of 6sier; they ^ach contain twelve hiindred 
weight of coal, and one ascends while the other descends. A 
single man receives these baskets as they arrive, and places 
them on a drd,y, having hooked 6n an ^mpty basket in the 
place of a fiill one, before he drfves the di^y to a shed at a 
IHtle distance, where he Empties his load. The dust passes 
through holes prepared to receive it, whilst the l&rge pieces 
of coal roll dbwn the declivity in h^aps, where they are liyaded 
in w%g^s and c&nied to wh&rfs on the river side, to be pnt 
on board the v&sels, which w&it to c4rry them to distant 
ports. The wagons, ¥^ry heavily l^den, run without horses 
to the wSter side, along a r&il-*road ingeniously formed in a 
sl5ping direction, with gr6oves that fit the wSggon-wheels, to 

make them gb more readily. 


l^he st&tely hbmes of England, 
How beaiSrtifiil they sttod ! 

LESSONS. 19)^ 

Amidst their tall ancestral tr^s! 
O'er 411 the pleasant land ! 

The deer across their greensward b6imd 
Through shade and sfinny glgam, 

And the sw^ glides p^t them with the soilnd 
Of some rejdicing stream. 

The m^rrj hbmes of ^England ! 
Aromid their h^rths bj night, 

What gUidsome loc^s of h/5iisehold Ibye 
Meet in the rdddy light ! . 

There w&man's voice flows f6rth in s6ngy 
Or childhood's tale is t61d ; 
Or lips move tiinefullj al6ng 

Some glorious page of 61d. 

The Q6ttage hbmes of ^England ! 
By thousands on her plSin% 

The J are smiling o'er the sHvery brbok. 

And round the hftmlet f knes. 

Through gl5wing brchards forth thej pSep, 

Each from its nook of leaves ; 

And fearless there the Idwly sleep. 
As the bird beneath their ^yes. 

The firSe fSir hbmes of ^England ! 
Long, long in httt and h&ll, 

May hearts ^f native prbof be rSar^d 

To guard each h&llow*d wAll. 



Andgrgen for 6ver be the gr^Yes, 
And bright the fl6werj sbd, 
Where first the child^s gl6d spirit loves 
Its.coiintry aod its Gdd. 




The grandest, the most sublime, and most extra^rdmait 
object we have j^t s^en^ is Fingal's Ckve, in the isle of St^a> 
It is a n&tural grbtto of stupendous size, formed by ranges of 
e51umns of d^k gri^y stftne, and r6ofed by the bbttoiss of 
others that have been broken 6ff, with the spaces betw^ 
filled with a yellow matter, which gives it the appearance of 
moi&ic w6rk. The sea reaches to the extremity of the c^ve, 
which is a hundred and f5rty feet i5ng, fifty-six feet higb, 
and thirty-five wide at the Entrance. It is imp6ssible to give 
you a just idea of the soltoiuty and magnificence of this ?a»t I 
ckvem. The agitation of the w&ves, beating against the ] 

r5cky bbttom and sides, and breaking, in &11 parts , into foam; 
the light, gleamin g from without to the farther end, becoming 

g^&dually more obsciire, but displaying a w5nderful variety » 
cdiours ; jMroduced altogether the most surprising effect joi 
can imftgine. On the right side of the Entrance is a sp&doai 
amphitheatre of different i^nges of cblumns, on the topjf 
which we walked at first with tolerable ^ase ; but, as f» 
mdvincedf this projecting gallery became 86 n&rrow aaij 



slippery, that we were obliged to go bdrefoot^ and with gr&it 
risk reached the farther ^nd, where the cave is bounded by a 
row of pillars resembling an 6rgan. Had we n6t seen Fingal's 
ckve, we might have admired that of C5ryorant, at the n6rth 
side of the island ; but it is ^very way inferior to the 6ne, 
which has so much delighted and ast6nished us. I beliere 
the whole island, which is only about two miles r5und, is a 
rock comp6sed of the s&me kind of pillars as this w6nderful 
c^yem; for, on appr5aching it in our little hb&t, we were 

struck with 4we at the grand ranges of colonn^es, one above 

an6ther, some f iffcy feet high, that support the s6uth-west end, 

and curve into spacious amphitheatres, according to the form 
of the b&ys and whidings of the sh6re. It is supposed by 
sdme, that the whdle was formed m^y ages ago by the 

eruption of a volcano, as also the rocky islet of Boosh&la, at a 
sm^ distance from the gr^d citvem, most likely united to 
Staffa beneath the water, though they appear to be separated 
by a nirrow chknnel. It is entirely composed of a number of 
banks of these natural pillars, placed in &11 dbections; in 
s6me parts they form ^ches ; in others, they are piled upon 
one another like steps , by which we clambered to the t6p of 

the pdinted hills, made, if I may so express myself^ of bundles 
of these pillars laid obliquely, and bare of m6uld or verdure : 
the whole so entirely different from any thing I Iyer saw 
befbre, that I am at a loss to describe it. 





How cSbn is the sfimmer si^a's wILve ! 

How softly is swelling its breast I 
The bank it j^ reltches to l&ye. 

Then sinks on its b5som to r^t. 

No dSshing, no fdaming, nor r6ar. 
Bat mild as a zephyr its plfty ; 

It drops scarcely hekrd on the sh6re. 

And passes in silence aw&y. 

So calm is the action of d^ath^ 

On the h&lcyon mind of the jibt. 
As gently he rifles their breast, 

As gently dissolves them to diist* 

Not a grdan, nor a p&in, nor a t^. 
Nor a grief, nor a wish^ nor a sigh. 

Nor a cl5udy nor a d5ubty nor a fiSar, 
But cSlm as a sl&nber they die. 




through TSrtary, h 

town of BSlk , went into the king's p^ace by mist&ke, thinking 
it to be a piiblic inn, or caraT&nsar^. Having Igoked about 

LES8QKS. 195 

him for s^me time, he entered a \6jig gSJlerj, where he laid 
down his w^let, and spread his o&pet ia order to repdse 
himself npbn it, ^ter the mknner of ^tem nations. He had. 
not been 15ng in this postmre, before he was observed by sonte 
of the gu^ds, who asked hini what was his biisiness in ihkt 
plkce. The dervis told them he intended to take up his 
night's lodging in that caravansary. The guards let him 

kn5w, in a v^ry angry manner , that the house he was in was 

not a caravansary, but the king's pMace. It happened that 
the king himself passed through the gallery during this 
debS,te ; who, smiling at the mistake of the dervis, ^ked him, 

how he could p6ssibly be s6 dull as not to distinguish a palace 
from a caravd,nsaiy. Sir, said the dervis, give me leave to 
ask your majesty a qu^tion or twb. Whd were the persons 
that lodged in this hduse, when it was first built ? The king 

replied, his ^cestors. And wh5, said the dervis, was the l&st 
person that Ibdg^ here ? The king replied, his fS,ther. And 

wh6 is it, said the dervis, that lodges here at pr^ent ? The 
king told him, that it was he himself. And wh6, said the 
dervis, will be here &fter you? The king ^swered, the 
young prince, his s6n. Ah ! Sir, said the dervis, a house that 
changes its ii]Jia,bitants so 6ften, and receives such a per petual 

succession of guests, is n6t a pMace, but a caravinsary. 



Weak and irresolute is m^"; 
The purpose of to-d&y» 


Wo yen with p&iiis into his pl&a, 
To-m6rrow rends aw&y* 

The bow wdll b^nt, andsm&rt the spring, 

Vice seems alr^ad j sUdn ; 
But pftssion riidely snkps the string. 

And it reylves agidn. 

Some foe to his upright intent 
Finds 6ut his weaker pkrt ; 
Virtue engages his assent, 

But pleasure wins his fae^. 

'Tis here the folly of the wise. 

Through Sll his krt we yi^w ; 
And while his tdngue the charge denies. 

His cdnscience owns it tr(ie. 

Bonnd on a voyage of &wful length ; 

And dangers little kn6wn, 
A stranger to superior strength, 

Man yalnly trusts his dwn. 

But oars aldne can nS'er prevkil 

To reach the distant co^ ; 
The bre ath of hSayen must sw^l the s&il. 

Or &U the toil is Idst. 





You have perhaps read the stories of Achilles, Alexander, 

and Charles of Sweden, and admired the high cburage, which 
seemed to set them above all sensations of fgar, and rendered 
them capable of the most extra6rdinary Mictions. The w6rld 
calls th^ men heroes ; but before w4 give them that noble 

appellation, let us consider what were the principles and 
m6tives, which animated them to 4ct and siiffer as they did. 

The first was a fer6cious s4vage, governed by the passions 
of ^ger and revenge ; in gratifying which he disregarded Ml 

impidses of diity and humd,nity. The second was intoxicated 
with the love of gldry, swoln with absiird pride, and ensliived 
by dissolute pleasures ; and, in pursuit of th^se objects, he 
reckoned the blood of millions as of nd accbunt. The third 
was unfeeling, obstinate, and tyr^nical, and preferred ruining 

his cofintry, and sacrificing SU his f&ithful followers, to the 

humiliation of giving iip any of his mid prbjects. Self, you 
see, was the spring of &31 their cbnduct ; and a selfish mkn v 
can never be a h^ro. But I shall now give you two examples 
of genuine heroism, the one in dctingy and the other in steer- 
ing ; and these shall be trde stbries, which is perhaps more 
than can be said of half that is recorded of Achilles and 

You have pr5bably heard something of Mr. H6ward. th^ 
refSrmer of prisons. His wh51e life almost was heroism, for 
he confronted lill sorts of d^gers, with the s61e view of 
relieving the miseries of his fi^ow-creatares. When he 

beg^n to examine the s tate of prisons, sc^celj any in Englaodi- 


was free from a y^ry fatal and infectious distemper, called 
j&il-fever. Wherever he hiard of it, he made a point of 
seeing the poor sMerers, and 5ften went dovm into their 
diingeons, when the keepers themselves would not accdmpany 
him. He travelled several times over Slmost the wh51e of 

Edrope, and ^ven into Asia, in order to gain a knowledge of 
the state of prisons and h6spitals, and point out means for 
l^sening the calamities that prev^led in them. He ^ven 
went into the countries where the pldgue was, that he might 
learn the h^st method of treating that t^rrihle disease ; and 
he v51untarily exposed himself to perform a strict qukrantine, 
as one susp ected of having the infection of the plkgue, 6nly 
that he might be thoroughly acquainted with the methods 
for prevention. He at length died of a fSver caught in 
attending on the sick on the borders of Crim T&rtary, honoured 
and admired by &11 Edrope, after having greatly contributed 
to enlighten his own and m^y other countries, with respect 
to sbme of the most imp5rtant objects of hum&nity. Siicli 
i^as H5ward the Gdod ; as grSat a hero in presSrvin^ man- 
kind, as some of the f&be heroes ab6ve mentioned were in 
deitrdying them. 

My second hero is a much hiimbler, but nbt less genuine 

bne. — There was a journeyman bricklayer in this town, an&ble 

. iirorkman, but a y^ry driinken Idle fellow, who spent at ibe 

lue-house almost all he Earned, and left his wife and children 

i^t home to shift for thems^ves. They might have st&rved 
but for his Eldest sbn, whom, from a child, the father had 

brought up to help him in his wdrk. This y6uth was so 
indiistrious and attendve, that, being now at the age of 
^|toeen or fourteen, he was able to earn pretty good w^es. 


^very farthing of which, that he could kgep out of his father's 
hknds, he brought to his m6ther. dften also, when his father 
came home drunk, ciirsing and swearing, and in such an ill 
humour, that his m6ther and the rest of the children durst 

not come near him for fear of a blating, Tom. (that was this 
good lad's name) kept beside him, to pacify him, and get him 
quietly to b^d. His mdther^ therefore, jfistly looked upon 
Tom as the support of the fkmily, and loved him dearly. 

But it chanced bne day, that Tom, in climbing iip a high 
ladder with a load of m6rtar on his h^ad, missed his hold, And 
fell d6wn to the b6ttom, on a heap of bricks and rubbish. 
The bj^-standers ran up to him, and found him ^1 bl6ody, 
with his thigh bone broken, and bSnt quite finder him. They 
raised him up, and sprinkled water on his f^ce, to recover him 
from a sw6on into which he had f kllen. As soon as he could 
sp^ak , 16oking round, he cried, in a l&mentable tbne, ^' Oh, 
what will become of my p6or mbther!" — He was carried 
hdme. I was present while the siirgeon s^t his thigh. His 
mother w^ hanging oyer him hSlf districted. *^ D6n't cry, 
mother," sSid he ; "I shall get w^U again in thne.^' Not a 
w5rd more, or a gr6an, escaped him, while the operation 
Usted. — Tom has Uways stood on m^ list of blroes. 

Evenings at Home. 



Oft has it been my l^t to mgark 
A proudy conceited, tUlkin^ sp^k^ 


(With 6ye8, that h^dly served at m6st 
To guard their master 'gainst a p6st ; 

Yet rSund the wbrld the hlade had b^en. 
To see whatever c6uld be s^en — ) 
Returning from his f hiish'd tbur, 
Grown tSn times perter than bef6re, 
Whatever word you chance to dr5p, 
The tr&vell'd fool jour mouth will stbp : 
" Sir, if m^ jikdgpnent you'll all6w — 
I've B^n, and sure I 6ught to kn6w" — 
So begs you'd pay a due submission, 
And acquiesce in his decision. 

Tw5 travellers of silch a ckst, 


As o*er Arabia's wilds they p&ss'd. 
And on their w&y in friendly chkt. 
Now talk'd of thls^ and th^n of th&t ; — 
Discoursed a while, 'mongst 6ther mktter. 
Of the Chameleon's form and n&ture. 

** A str&iger animal/' cries 6ne, 

*' Sure n^ver lived ben^th the s(hi, 
A lizard's bbdy, l^an and long, 

A fish's hekd, a serpent's tbngue ; 
Its £i5ot with triple claw disjdin'd, 

And what a l^ng^h of t&il behind ! 
How sl6w its p&ce ! and th^n its hiie— 
Wh6 ever saw so fine a bl(ie ?" 

** H61d there,* * the other quidc repHes, 
***Tis gr^en,— I saw it with thgse feyes. 


As ISte with 6pen mouth it Mj, 
And warmed it in the siinn j rkj ; 
Stretch'd at its ^ase the b^t I yi^w'd, 
And sd.w it eat the air for f6od !" 

I've seen it. Sir, as nvell as ydu. 
And must again affirm 'tisblde. 
At leisur e I the beast surv^y'd, 
Extended in the cdoling shkde." 

" 'Tis gr^en, 'tis gr^en, Sir, I assure ye. '' 

"Green!" cries the dther, in a f&ry — 
" Why, Sir, d'ye think I've lost my gyes ?" 

'Twere nb g^at loss," the friend replies, 
For, if they ^ways serve you thiis, 

You'll find them but of little lise." 
S6 high at l&st the contest r6se. 
From wdrds they Mmost ctoe to bldws ; 
When Idckily came b^ a third ; 
To htm the question they ref^r'd, 
\nd b^gg'd he'd tell them, if he knlw , 
Whether the thing was g^^n or bide. 
** Sirs," cried the umpire, " cfease your pbther. 

The creature's neither 6ne nor t'dther ; 
I c&ught the animal l^t night, * 

And vfew'd it 6'er by c&ndle light, 
I mark'd it w^ll — 'twas black as j^t— 
You stare — but, Sirs, Fve got it y^t, 
And can prodikce it." — " Pray, Sr, dd ; 
rU lay my life, thct thing U biae/' 


** And 111 be 8w6rn, that when you've s&en 
The reptile, joull pronounce him gr^en." 

" W6U th^n, at 6nce, to gase the dbnbt/' 

Replies the min, ** Til turn him 6ut ; 
And when bef 6re your dyes IVe s^t him, 

if you don't find him bl^k, I'll ^at him/' 

He said ; then £511 bef6re their sight 
Produced the bdast, and lo— 'twas white ! 
both st&red; the mkn look'd wond'rous wise ; 
** My childr en," the ChamSeon cries, 

(Then first the creature found a t6ngue,) 
** You &11 are right, and &11 are wr6ng : 
When n^xt you talk of what you view, 
Think dthers see as well as ^6u ; 
Nor w6nder, if you find that n5ne 
Prefers y6ur dye^ight to his 6wn** 




Mung^ Park, the cflebrated African traveller, gives the 

f6Ilowing lively and Interesting acc6unt of the hSspitable 
tr^tment which he received from a n6gpro wbman: ^' Being 
arrived at S^o, the capital of t he kin gdom <rf Bamb&rra, 
si toated on the banks of the Niger, I wished to pass 6ver to 
that part of the town, in which the king rtsldes: Hbut, from 


the number of persons eager to obtain a pfesage, I was under 
the necessity of waiting tw6 hdurs. During this time, the 
people who. had crossed the river, carried information to 
Mansong the king, that a white mkn was waiting for a 
plussage, and was coming to s^e him. He immediately 
sent over one of his chief m^, who informed me that the 
king could not pdssibly see me, until he knew what had 
brought me into his co(^ntry : and that I must not presiime to 
cross the river without the king's permission. He therefore 
advised me to lodge, for th&t night, at a distant village, to 
which he p6inted ; and said that, in the m$ming, he would 

give me further instructions how to condCLct myself. This 
was v^ry discoiiraging. However, as there was n6 remedy, 

I set 6ff for the village ; where I found, to my gr^at mortifi- 
c^tion, that n6 person would admit me into his h6use. From 
prejudices infused into their minds , I was regarded with 
ast6nishment and fto: ; and was obliged to sit the whole day 
without victuals, in the shkde of a tr^. 
^ '* The night threatened to be v^ry uncbmfortable ; for the 
wind r$se, and there was gr&it appearance of a h^vy ridu : 
t he wild beasts, too, were s$ numerous in the neighbourhood, 
that I should have been imder the necessity of climbing up 
the tree, and resting among the branches. About siinset, 
however, as I was preparin g to pass the night in this m^ner, 
and had turned my horse 16o8e, that he might graze at liberty, 
a a^;ro woman, returning from the labours of the field, 
stopped to obs^ve me ; and perceiving that I was w^ary and 
dejected, inquired into my situition. I briefly explained it to 
ker ; after which, with looks of gr^at compassion, she took iq^ 
my Mddle and bridle^ and told me to fdllow« Hsu^^ 


conducted me into her hfit, she lighted a l&mp, spread a mat 
on the fl6or, and told me I might rem&in there for the night. 
Finding that I was y^ hiingry, she went 6ut to procure me 
something to ^at ; and returned in a 8h6rt time with a v^ry 
fine fish; which, having caused it to be h&lf broiled upon 
some Imbers, she gave me for sapper. The rites of hospitality 
being thiis perfdrmed towards a str&nger in distr^, my 
w6rthy benefactress (pointing to the mit, and telling me I 
might sl^ep there with5ut appreh^ion) called to the female 
part of the family, who had stood gazing on me &11 the while 
in fixed astonishment, to resume their task of spinning c6tton ; 
in which they continued to employ themselves gr^at part of 
the night. 

** They lightened their labour by s6ng8, $ne of which was 
composed extempore ; for I was myself the sdbjeot of it. It 

was sung by one of the yo(ing wbmen, the rest joining in a 
sort of ch6rus. The air was swiet and pl&intive, and the 
words, Ifterally translated, were th^e : * The winds rdared^ 

and the rains f^. — The p6or whfte mkn, faint and w&ury, 
came and sat under our tr^. — He has no m6ther to bring 
him milky n5 wffe to grind his cdm. Chorus — Let us pity 
the white man : no mbther has h^ to bring him milk ; n6 wife 
to grind his c6m.' Trifling as these events may appear to the 
reader, they were to ml affecting in the highest degr^ I 
was oppressed by such imexp^cted kindness ; and sleep AM 
from my hyes. In the m5ming I presented to my compas- 
sionate lltndlady tw6 of the fSur brfiss buttons which remained 
on my wftistcoat ; the 6nly recompense it was in my pdwer to 
mike to her.** PjkRjL'a TrawU. 

LESSONS, 20li* 



Breathes tkere a ni^ with soul so d^ad, 
Who nlver to himself hath s£d. 

This is my 6wn, my n&tive Ikpd ! 
Whose heart hath ni'er tirithhi him hurn'd. 
As home his footsteps he hath t^m'd, 

From w&nd'ripg on a fSreigpi strknd ? 
If sfich there hr^athe, g6, mfirk him w^fl ) 

For hfm no minstrel raptures sw^ ; 

High though his titles, prSud his n&me, 

B6Hn<Ues8 his w^lth as wish can cliim ;— * 

Despite those titles, p5wer, and p^. 

The wr^h, concentred &1) in s^f. 

Living , shall f6rfeit fair renbwn, 

And, douhly d^ng, shall go dbwn 

To the vile diist, from whence he sprang. 
Unwept, unh6nour*d, and unstbg. 

Caleddnia ! st^m and wfld, 
M^et nurse for a pontic child, 
Land of hr6wn h^th, and sh^gy wbod. 
Land of the m6untain and the fl 5od, 
Land of my sires ! what m6rtal hknd 
Can ^'er untie the filial hknd 
That knits me to thy riigged str^d ! 
Sdll as I view each w^ll-known scene. 
Think whli4; is n^w, an^^vWx.'V&^XJ^fi^ 


Seems as to me of all bereft. 

Sole friends thy woods and streams were l^fib ; 

And^ thus I love thee better stilly 

Even in extremity of ill» 

By Y&Tow's streams still let me str&y : 

Though n6ne should guide my feeble wky ; 
Still feel the breeze down £ttrick br^ak^ 
Although it chfll my withered ch^k ; 

Sdll lay my hSad by T^yiot stbne. 

Though th^e« forgStten and aI5ne, 

The bird may dr&w his p^ting grban* 

Sib Walter Scott. 



On hi s return from the inte rior of Africa, Mr. Pirk was 

encountered by a party of &rmed m^n, who said, that the king 

t of the Fdulahs had sent them to bring him, his horse, and 

£?ery thing that belonged to him, to Fouladdo ; and that he 

must therefore turn b^ck, and go al6ng with them. *' With- 

out hesitating/' says Mr. Park, " I turned rdund and f611owed 
them» and we travelled together near a quarter of a mile 
without exchanging a w6rd : when, coming to a dark place in 
the wbod, 6ne of them said, in the Mandingoe langpiag^e, 
' This place wiU db,' and immediately snatched the h&t from 
mjr b^ad. Though I was by n5 means free from apprehensions. 

LB8SON8. 207 

jet I was resolred to show as f €w signs of fear as possible ; 
and therefore tdld them^ that unless my hat was retjirped to 

me, I would proceed no farther ; but before I had time to 
receive an Answer, another drew his knife, and seizing on a 
metal biitton, which remained upon mj w^stcoat, cut it off» 
and put it into his pdcket. Their intention was now 6bvious : 
and I thought, that the Easier they were permitted to rob me 
of ^very thing, the less I had to fdar. I therefore allowed 
them to search my pockets without resistance, and examine 
^very part of my app&rel, which they did with the m6st 
scriipulous exactness. But observing that I had 6ne waistcoat 
under an6ther, they insisted that I should cast them dff; and 
at last, to make siire work, they stripped me quite n&ked« 

Even my half-boots, though the sole of them was tied to my 

foot with a br6ken bridle-rein, were miniitely inspected. 
Whilst they were examining the pliinder, I begged them to 

return my pocket c6mpass; but, Yrhea I p6inted it out to 
t^em, as it was lying on the gr6und, one of the banditti, 
thinking I was about to take it up , cocked his miisket, and 
swore, that he would shoot me d^ad on the sp5t, if I presumed • 
tp put my h&nd on it* After this, some of them went away 
with my hdrse, and the remaii^der stood considering, whether 
they should leave ine quite nltked, or allow me something to 
shelter me from the h^t of the sun. Humanity at last pre- 
vailed ; they returned me the worst of the tw$ shirts, and a 
pair of trdwsers ; and as they went awSy, one of them threw 
back my hSt, in the cr$wn of which I kept my memorandums ; 
and this was pr6bably the reason they did not wish to keep it. 
** After they were gone, I sat for s6me time looking around 
me with amazement and t&rrox. ^N^^^'&gfes^x -^^^.*^Qs^^^^^> 


nothing appeared but d&nger and difficulty. I saw myself m' 

the midst of a vkst wndeme^s, in the depth of the rainy 

season, n&ked and aldne, surrounded by s&vage knimals, and 

by mdn still mdre skvage. I was fire hundred miles from the 

nearest Europ^n settlement. All these circumstances crowded 
at once upon my recollection : and, I confSss , my spirits began 

to f&il me. I considered my fate as obtain, and that I had 
n5 altematiye but to He ddwn and die. The influence of 
religion, however, 4ided and supp6rted me. I reflected, that 
no hiiman prudence or foresight could p^ibly have averted 
my pr^ent siifferings. I was indeed a str^ger in a strSnge 
land ; yet I was still under the protecting eye of th&t Prbvi* 
dence, who has condescended to call himself the str^ger's 
friend. At this moment, pjinful as my feelings w^re, the 
extraordinary beauty of a sihall moss irresistibly ckught my. 
dye. I mention this, to show from what trifling circumstances 
the mind will sometimes derive consol&tion ; for though the 
whole plant was not larger than my finger, I could not 
contemplate the d^rcate structure of its parts without admirft- 
•tion. Can thkt BSing, thought I, who planted, watered, and 
br6ught to perfection, in this obsciire part of the wbrld, a 
a thing of so sm^ importance, look with unconcern on the 
situation and sufferings of creatures formed after his $wa 
image ? S{irely nbt ! Reflections like th^se would not all5w 
me to desp&ir. I started iip, and, disregarding both hdng^ 
and fatigue, travelled fdrward, assured that reUef was at hdnd, 
and I w^s not disappdinted." 

Park's Travels. 




There lives and wdrks 

A sdul in &11 things, and thkt s5ul is G6d. 
The beauties of the nvtldemess are His, 
That make so gaj the s51itarj plkce 

^^here nb lye s^es thenu And the fEirer forms 
Tnat cultivation glories in are His. 

He sets the bright procession on its wILy, 

And marshals ill the order of the y^. 

He marks the bounds which winter may pot pass. 

And blunts its pointed fi!iry ; in its case , 

Rilsset and riide, folds iip the tinder girm, 

Uninjured, with inimitable art ; 

And, ere one fl6wery season fades and dies, 

Designs the bl6oming wbnders of the n^xt. 
The Lord of all, himself through fill difftised, 

Sust^ns, and is the life of SHI that Hves. 

N&ture is but a nSme for an effect, 
Whose cause is 66d. One spirit — His 

Who wore the plluted th5ms with blleding br8ws. 
Rules universal' Nkture I Not a fl6wer 
But sh6ws s5me touch, in frickle, strlaky or st&in. 
Of his unrivalled pInciL He inspires 
Their b&lmy odours, and imparts their hfies, 
And bathes their eyes with nictar, and indiides. 
In gprains as c6untless as the sla-side sandsy 
The forms with which he sigrixLkl^^\^^^Ks!*ic^ 


Happy who walks with him ! whom, what he finds. 
Of fl&vour, or of scint, in fr&ity or fldwer. 
Or what he views of beaiitiful or grSnd 
In Nature, from the broad majestic oak 

To the green blade that twinkles in the sfin. 

Prompts with remembrance of a present G5d ! 




If we consider th$se pkrts of the material wbrld which lie 
the nearest to us, and which are therefore subject to our 
observations and inquiries, it is amazing to consider the 

infinity of &nimals with which it is st6cked. Every part of 

^ m&tter is peopled ; every gr^en leaf swfirms with inh&bitants. 

There is sdbcely a single hiimour in the body of a man» or oi 

any $ther ^imal, in which our gl&sses do not discover myriads 

of living creatures. The surface of animals is also covered 
with 6ther animals, which are, in the sILme mimner, the bases 

of 6ther knimals, that live upon th^m ; nky, we find in the 
m6st s61id bodies, as in mkrble itself, inniimerable <^lls and 
okvities, that are cr6wded with such imperceptible inhabitants 
as are t$o little for the niked eye to discover* ^n the 6ther 
hand, if we look into the more bi!ilky party of nSture, we see 
the s^as, likes, and rivers, teeming with nihnberless kinds ot 
Ufing creatores* We find every mJSraoitedsv «sid miSrsh, wnder-* 

LESSONS. 211: 

ness and w6od, plentifully stbcked with birds and b^asts^ and 
^Torj pkrt of mktter affording pr6per necessaries and conye* 
niences for the livelihood of the multitudes which inhabit it. 

Nor is the goodness of the Supreme Being l^ss seen in the 
diversity than in the miiltitude of living creatures. Had he 
only made 5ne species of animab, n6ne of the rest would have 
enj6yed the happiness of existence. He has, therefore, specified 
in his creation ivery degree of Me, Svery capacity of b^ing. 
The whole chasm of nkture, from a pl&nt to a m&n, is filled 
up with diverse kinds of creatures, rising one over anSther^ 
b y such a gentle and ^asy ascent , that the little transitions 

and deviations from one species to an5ther are Almost ins^ible. 
This intermediate spkce is so well husbanded and managed, 
that there is sc^cely a degree of perception, which does not 
appear in some 6ne part of the world of life. Now, if the 

scale of being rises, by such a regular prbg^ess, so high as 
m&n, we may, by a parity of r^on, suppose that it still 
proceeds gradually through th6se beings, which are of a 
superior nature to hhn ; leaving stUl, however, an infinite g&p 
or ch&sm between the highest created being and the Power 
which produced him. In this system of being, there is n6 
creature so wonderful in its nature, and which so miich 
deserves our particular attention, as m&n, who fills tip the 
middle spkce between the ILnimal and intellectual nkture— the 
visible and Invisible wbrld ; so that he, who, in 6ne respect, 
b eing assdciated with Angels, may look upon a Being of 
Infinite perfection as his father, and the highest brder of spirits 
as his brethren, may, in an5ther respect, say to corriiption, 
** Thou art my fXther^" and to the w6rm, « Thou art my 
mdiher and my dtter,** Ksscs^sd^-^^ 




Begin^ my 86uly tk' ex&lted Iftj I 

Let eaoh ODdiptured thought ob^j» 
And pr&ise the Almighty's nkme : 

La! h^ven and terth, ftiid s^ and skies* 
In one mel6dious concert rise» 
To awell th' inspiring th^me. 

Jdin, ye 16ud sph^ies , the rdeal chMr ; 

Thott d&zzling orb of liquid f ire* 

The mfghty chorus did : 
Soon as grey eVning gilds the pUin, 
Thou, mdon, protract the mating striiiiy 

And praise him in the shAde. 

Let Svery Element rej6ice t 

Ye thiinders, burst with &wfiil rbice 

To him who bids you r611 ; 
His praise in s6fter n^tes declire. 

Each whispering br^ze of yielding iir. 
And br&ithe it to the sdul. 

To him, ye g^ftceful cMars , bdw ; 
Ye tftVring mbuntains, bending 15w, 

Your grfat Creator 6wn; 
T^, when affi-ighted nature sh5ok, 
How Sinai kindled at his 16ok, 

And trembled at fiufrdwn. 


Ye flocks that haunt the hfimble vkle, 
Ye insects fluttering on the gSle , 

In miitual concourse rise ; 
Crop the g&y rose's T^rmeil b^om, 
And waft i ts sp6ils, a sw^et perfume , 

In incense to the skies. 

W^e, all ye mounting tribes, and sing; 

Ye plfimy wkrblers of the spring, 

Harm5nious knthems r&ise 
To Him who shaped your fhier mbuld. 

Who tipp*d your glitt'ring Yfings with g5Id, 

And tuned your y6ice to prdise* 

Let m^, by n6bler prions swa/d. 

The filing hekrt, the judging h^. 
In h^v'nly pr^e empl6y ; 

Spread his tremfadous nkme ardund. 

Till hlaven's br6ad'krch rings b&ck the sbund. 

The general bitrst of j6y. 

le whom the charms of gr&ndeur please, 

Nursed on the d6wny Ikp of ^ase. 

Fall pr6strate at his thr6ne. 
Ye princes, riilers, all ad6re : 

Pr^se Him, ye kings, who makes your p6wer 

An image of his 6wn# 

Ye fair, by nature formed to m5vey '^ 

O praise th' eternal source of 16ve, 
With youth's enliyemn|^ {\i^\ 



Let age take up the tnnefiil l&y» 
Sigh his bl^ss'd n^e — then soar awSy, 
And ask an ftngePs 1^. 




The greatest knimab are made for inoff^^nsiye Ufe, to range 
the plains and the forest with$ut pjuring 6thers ; to live upon 
the prodiictions of the Sarth, the gr^ of the fields, or the 
tinder branches of the tr^es. Th^e, secure in their 5wn 
strength, neither fly from inj 6thcr quadrupeds, nor yet 
att&ck them. N&ture, to the greatest str^gth, has added 
the most gSntle dispositions, With5ut this, these en5rmoi]s 
creatures would be more than a match fot ill the r^t of the 
creation; for, what devast&tion might not ensiie, were the 
Elephant, or the rlun6ceros, or the bdffalo, as fierce or as 
mischieyous as the tiger or the r&t ? In order to oppcSse these 
l&rge Itnimalsy and in s^me m^ure to prevent their e x&ber* 
ance, there is a species of the camiyorous kind, of inflrior 

str^gth indeed, but of grater ACtlyitj and eiinning. The 
lion and the tiger generally wktch for the l^ger kinds of 
prey, att&ck them at s6me disady&ntage, and edmmonly jiimp 
upbn them by surprise. None of the cacmlvQirous kinds, 
except the dog aldne, wiU xnake a T^untaiy attack but with 
ddtk on their slde^ The^ axe ill cowards by nkture^ and 


fisnallj catch their prey hy a b5imd from some Mrking plkce, 
seldom attempting to invSde them Openly; for the Idrger 
blasts are t5o powerful for them, and the smaller t6o swift. 
A Hon does not willingly att^k a h^rse, and then only when 
compelled by the k^nest hilknger. Combats between the 
lion and the hSrse are odmmon enbugh in Italy, where they 
are b6th enclosed in a kind of amphith^tre fitted for thkt 
purpose. The lion always aj^roaohes wheeling about, while 
the hdrse presents his hinder l^gs to the ^nemy. The lion, in 
this manner, goes r5und and rSund, still n&rrowing his circle, 

till he comes io the pr5per distance to mlike his spring. 
Jiist at tlie4iiiie the lion springs, the horse lashes with b6tb 

Icigf from behind, and, in gfSnerat, the odds are in his flvour ; 

it m$re bH&t^ happening that the lion is stibined and struck 

m5tionles8 by the bl6w, than that he effects his jtimp between 

the horse's shoulders. If the Hon is stiinned, and left sprawl- 

ing, the horse escapes without attempting to impr6Ye his 
victory ; but if the lion suceSeds, he sticks to his pr^y, and 
tears the horse in pieces in a v^ shbrt time. 

But it is nbt among the Mrger knimals of the forest al^ne 

that these hostilities are ciuried dn. There is a minute and a 
ttill more treacherous cbntest between the Idwer ranks of 
quadrupeds. The pftnther hiints for the sh&gp and the g6at ; 
the mountain-cat for the hSre or the rft bbit : and the wild cat 
fo r the squirrel or the m6use. In prop6rtion as each cami* 
Torous animal wk nts strength, it uses all the assistance of 

p&tience, assid&ity, and canning. However, the arts of 
th^e to pursiie are not so great as the tricks of their prgy 
to escftpe ; so that the p^wAr of destriictiAiv Vcv ^\!^<^ ^Sd^sewSa^ 


inferior to the p6wer of s&fetj in tbe dtber. Were tliis 
Otherwise, the fdrest would s6ou. be dispeopled of the feebler 
ritces of animals, and b^ts of priy tbems^lyes would want 

at 6ne time thkt subsistence which thej Urishlj destrojed at 


F^w wild animals seek their prey i n the d&y-time; thej 
are th^n generally detto'ed by their fears of m&n in the 
inh&bited countries, and by the exc&sive heat of the sun in 
those extensive forests that lie towards the sduth, and in 
which they reign the undisputed tyrants. As soon as tbe 
m6ming, therefore, appfars, the camiyorous animals retire to 
their d^ns ; and the ^ephant, the hdrse, the d^er, and all the 
h&re kinds, those inoffensive in habitants of t he plain, make 
their appearance. But again at night-fall the state of hos- 
tility begins : the wh6le f6rest then echoes to a variety of 
different hdwlings. Nothing can be m6re terrible than ui 
A'frican landscape at the cl5se of Evening; the d^ep-toued 
rdaiings of the Hon; the shriller yellings of the tiger; the 
j&ckal piursuing by the sc^nt, and barking like a d6g; the 
hy^na, with a note peculiarly solitary and dreadful ; but, 

ab5ve all, the hissing of the various kinds of serpents, which 
then begin their c&U, and, as I am assiired, make a miich 

15uder symphony than the birds in our grdves in a mbming. 

Beasts of prey seldom devour each 6ther; nor can iaj 

thing, but the greatest degree of hiinger, indiice them to it. 
What they chfefly s^ek after is the d^er or the g6at, these 

harmless creatures, that seem made to embellish nature. 
These are either pursued or surprised, and afford the most 
j^T^able rej^st to their destt6^er&. The m6st (isual method, 


even with the fiercest iuumals, is to hide and cr6uch near some 
path frequ^ted by their pr^y, or 86ine wkter where the c&ttle 
come to drink) and s^ise them at once with a bound. The 
lion and the tiger leap twenty feet at a sprhig ; and this, 

rather than their swiftness or strength, is what they have 
in6st to depend upon for a supply. There is scarcely one of 
the d^er or h^e kind, that is not yery Easily capable of 
escaping them by its swiftness ; so that, whenever any of these 
fall a priy, it must be 6wing to their 6wn inattention. But 
there is andther* clkss of the carnivorous kind, that hunt by 
the sc^nt, and which it is mdre difficult to esc&pe. It is 
rem^kable that all animals of this kind pursue in a p&ck, and 
encourage each bther by their mdtual cries. The j&ckal, the 
s^agush, the w6lf, and the d6g are of this kind ; they pursue 
Tith patience rather than swiftness : their prey flies at first 
and leaves them behind ; but they keep on with a constant 
steady pace, and excite each other by a general spirit of 
industry and emulation, till at last they share the c5mmon 
pliinder. But it too bften happens, that the larger b^ts, 
when they hear the cry of this kind beg un, pursde the pkck, 
and^ when they have hunted d6wn the knjmal, come in and 

mondpolize the spbil. This has given rise to the report of 
the jlU^kal's being the lion's provider, while the reality is, that 
the j^kal hunts for himself, and the lion is an unwelcome 
intruder upon the fr(uts of his toiL 

Of the pr^y of these carnivorous animals, sdme find protec- 
tion in holes, in which nature has directed them to bCiry 
thems^ves ; some find s^ety by swiftness ; and such as are 
possessed of neither of these advantages, generally herd 
together, and endeavour to Tei[«\ VcLNvMsvwi \s^ ^sx^^s^ K^jv-vv.-"^' 


The very sh^ep, which to us seem 85 defenceless, are b j no 
means so in a stkte of n&ture. Thej are flemished with armfl 
of defence, and a vSrj gth&t deg^r^ of swiftness* But they 
are still f&rther assisted bj their spirit of mCitual defence : the 
females fall into the cfatre ; and the m^es, forming a ring 

r5und them, oppose their horns to the asslUlants. 

Sdme animals that feed upon fruits which are to be found 
only at 6ne time of the year, fill their h61es with several sbrts 
of plknts, which enable them to lie concealed during the hird 
firbsts of the winter, contented with their prisob, since it affords 
them plenty and protection. These holes are dag with 80 
miich krt, that there seems the design of an Architect in the 
formation. There are Usually tw6 apertures, by 6ne of which 
the little inhabitants can ftlways esckpe when the enemy is in 
possession of the 6ther. Many creatures are Equally careful 
of avoiding their Enemies, by placing a s^tinel to warn them 
of the approach of d&nger. These generally perform this 
duty by tibms ; and they know how to punish such as have 
neglected their p5st, or hate been unmindful of tha cdmrnon 

Such are a p^ of the Efforts that tHe' weaker races of 
quadrupeds exert to ay6id their inv&ders; and, in general, 

they are attended with succ^. The &rts of instinct are 
most c6mmonly found an 6vermatch for the invisions of 
instinct. M&n is the 6nly cr^ture against whom all their 
little arts c&nnot prev&il. Whereyer h^ has spread his 
dominion, scarcely &ny flight can s&ve, or any retreat h&rbour. 
Wherever h^ cbmes, terror seems to fdUow, and &11 society 
ceases among the inferior inhabitants of the plkin. Thdr 
BDioa against him cai\ y\e\A i^cvgva tA igto\]^\.\ai\^ oxui their 


cfinning is but w^aknesa* In their fallow brbt es they have 

enemies whom they can oppose with an eqii41ity »)f adv&ntage* 
They can oppose fraud or swiftness to f6rce, or niimbers to 
inv^ion ; but wh&t can be done against such an enemy as 
mtaf who finds them out though uns^n, and though remote 
destr6ys them ? Wherever hS comes, all contest among the 

meaner i^tnks seems to be at an ^nd, or is carried on only by 
surprise. Such as he has thought proper to protect, have 
cSImly submitted to his protection; such as he has fbund 
convenient to destroy, ckrry bn an unequal war, and their 
numbers are everyday decr^asiug. 




I would not ^nter on my list of friends 

(Tho' graced with p61ish'd miners and fine sense 

Yet wanting sensibility) the man 

Who needlessly sets foot upon a w6rm. 

An inadvertent step may crush the sn&il 

That crawls at evening in the pi^blic pkth ; 
But he that has hum^ity, forew^n'd, 

Will step asldei and let the reptile live. 

The creeping v&rmin, loathsome to the sights 

And charged with v^nom, that intrudei^ 
A visitor unwelcome, into sceneft 


Sacred to neatness and rep66e, the bdwer. 

The ch&mber, or the h&ll, may die : 

A necessary act incurs n6 blftme. 

Ndt so, when held within their proper bbunds. 

And guiltless of offence, they range the fiir, 

Or take their pastime in the sp&cious field : 
Thire they are privileged . And he that hurts 

Or harms them thire is guilty of a wr6ng ; 
^ Disturbs th' economy of n&ture's r^alm. 

Who, when sh e f6rm'd, design'd them an ab6de. 
The sum is this : if man's convenience, health. 
Or sSfety interfere, his rights and claims 
Are p^ameunt, and must extinguish theirs. 
Else they are ^ — the meanest things that &re. 
As free to live, and to enj5y that life. 

As God was free to form them at the first, 
Who in his s6v'reign wisdom m&de them kU. 

Ye, therefore, who love mircy, t^ach your sons 

To love it t6o. The spring time of our y^ars 
Is so dishonoured and defiled, in most, 

By budding ills, that ask a prudent hknd 

To ch^ck them. But alas ! none sdoner shoots, 
If unrestrSin'd, into luxfiriant gr6wth. 

Than crdelty, most devilish of them fill. 

Mercy to him that sh5ws it, is the riile 

And righteous limitation of its Set, 

By which h^a/n m5ves, in pardoning guilty mkn 

And he that shows u&ne, V^ern^ tV^^ \tl ^ears^ 


And conscious of the 6utrage he comm its. 
Shall s^k it — and not fmd it in retiim. 




An inexhaustible mine of 4ncient curiosities exists in the 
ruins of Herculaneum, a city lying between Naples and 

Mount Vesuvius, which, in the first years of the reign of 
Titus, was overwhelmed by a stream of lava from the neigh- 
bouring volcano. This lava is now of a consistency which 
renders it extremely difficult to be rem6ved ; being composed 
of bituminous petioles, mixed with cinders, minerals, and 
vitrified substances, which altogether form a cldse and p6n- 

derous mass. 

In the revolution of m^y l^es, the spot it stood upon wai 

entirely forgotten ; but i n the year 1713 it was accidentally 
discbvered by some labourers, who, in digging a will, struck 
upon a statue on the benches of the theatre. Several curibsi- 
ties were dug out and sent to Fr&nce; but the search was 
^6on discontinued, and Herculaneum remained in obscurity 
till the year 1736, when the King of Naples employed men 
to dig perpendicularly Eighty feet d^ep ; whereupon not only 
the city made its appearance, but also the bed of the river 

which rdn through it. 

In the temple of Jupiter were found a statue of gold, aod 

the inscription that decorated the gr^at dbors of the 6ntrauce% 


Many ciirious appendages of Opulence and liixury have since 
been discorered In yarious parts of the city, and were arranged 
in a wing of the palace of N&ples ; among which are statues, 
biists, and&ltars ; domestic, miisical, and siirgical instruments; 
tripods, mirrors of p61ished m^tal, silver kettles, and a ISd/s 
t6ilet, furnished with c6mbsy thimbles, rings, 6ar-rings, &c. &c. 

A large quantity of m&nuscripts was also found among the 
ruins; and very s&nguine hbpes were entertained by the 

learned, that many works of the indents would be restored to 
li ght, and that a new mine of science was on the point of 
being dpened; but the difficulty of unr611ing the burnt 
p&rchments, and of deciphering the obscure letters, has 
proved such an obstacle, that very little progress has been 
made in the wbrk. 

The streets of Herculkneum seem to have been p^ectly 
straight and regular; the houses w^ll built and generally 
Uniform; and the rooms paved either with l&rge Roman 
bricks, mos&ic work, or fine mlurble. It appears that the 
town was not filled up sd unexpectedly with the melted lava, 
as to prevent the gr^test part of the inhabitants from escaping 
with their richest effects; for there were not more than a 
dozen skeletons found, and but little gold or precious stones. 

The town of Pomplii was involved in the skme dreadful 
catastrophe, but was not discovered till near f6rty years after 
the discovery of Hercul&neum. F^w skeletons were found in 
die streets of Pompeii ; but in the h6uses there were mftny, 
in situations which plainly proved that they were endeavouring 
to escape when the trem^dous shbwers of ashes intercepted 
their retr^t. 





O how canst thou renounce the boundless stbre 

Of charms which n&ture to her v6tarie8 yields ? 
The w&rbling wbodland, the resdunding shbre. 

The pomp of graves and garniture of fields ; 
All that the genial ray of morning gilds, 

And all that echoes to the song of ^ven ; 
All tha t the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, 

And all the dread magnificence of h^ven, 

O how canst thou rendunce, and hope to be forgiven ? 


■ It wins my admir&tion 

To view the structure of that little work — 
A bird's nest. Mark it w^ll within, with6ut ; 

No tool had he that wr6ught ; no knife to c&t ; 

No nail to fix ; no bodkin to insert ; 

No glue to j6in ; his little beak was 631 ; 

And yet how nicely f Inish'd I What nice hiLnd, 
With every implement and means of art , 

And twenty years* apprenticeship to bdol. 

Could m^e me s(idi another ? 


The sounds and seas, each creek and b8y, 

With fry inniimerable swdrm, and shoals 

Of fish that, with their fins and shining scfles. 


Glide under the green w^ve, in sculls that oh 
Bank the mid s^a : part single or with m&te 

Graze the s^weed, their p&sture, and thro' groves 

Of c5ral str&j, or sp5rting with qufck gl&ice 

Show to the sun ^eir w&ved c6ats dropt with g^ld. 
Or, in their plarly shells at ^ase, attend 

M6ist no(irishment, or under rocks their food 

In j dinted armour wfttch ; part huge of hiilk 
W&llowing unwieldy, en5rmous in their g&it. 

Tempest the dcean* 




This mountain, so named on account of its'^ white aspect, 

helongs to the gr^t central chain of the Alps. It is trfilj 
gigantic, and is the most Elevated mountain in Eilrope, rising 
00 less than 15,872 feet, somewhat more than thr^ miles, 

ahove the llvel of the s^a. It is encompassed hy those won- 
derful collections of snow and ice called gl&ciers, two of the 

principal of which are called Mount D61ent and Triolet. The 
highest part of Mont BIknc, named the Dromedary, is in the 
shape of a compressed hemisphere. From thSt point it sinks 
gl^ually, and presents a kind of c6ncaye surface of snow, 
in the midst of which is a sm^ pyramid of Ice. It then rises 
into a sScond hemisphere, which is named the Middle dbme ; 


and thence descends into an6tlier cbncave surface, terminating 
in a point, which, among other names bestowed on it by th e 

Say6 yards, is styled Dome de G6ut^, and may be regarded as 

the inf^or dbme. 

The first successful attempt to reach the summit of Mont 
Blanc, was made in August, 1786, by Doctor P&ccard, a 
physician of Chamduni. He was led to make the attempt by 
a guide named B&lma, who, in searching for crj^stals, had 
discovered the only practicable route by which so arduous an 
iindertaking could be accdmplished. The ascent occupied 
fifteen hburs, and the descent five, under circumstances of 
the gr^test difficulty ; the sight of the DcJctor and that of 
hi^ guide, Balma, being so affected by the snow and wind, as 
to render them almost blind, at the same time that the face of 
each was excoriated, and the lips exceedingly swelled. 

On the 1st of August, of th e f611owing year, 1787, the 

celebrated n&turalist, M. de Saussure, set out, accompanied 

by a servant and Eighteen guides, who carried a tent and 

mattresses, and v&:ious instruments of experimental phildsophy. 
The first night they passed under the tent, on the summit of 

the mountain of La C6te. The journey thither was exempt 
from trouble or danger, as the ascent is always over turf or on 
the 86lid r6ck ; but ab6ve this place it is wh611y over ice or 


Early next morning they traversed the glacier of La C6te, 

to gain the foot of a small chain of rikks, enclosed in the 
'snows of Mont Bl&nc. The glacier is intersected by wide, 
deep, irregular churns, which fr^uently qan be passed only 
by bridges of sn6w, which are suspended 6ver the ab^ss. 
After reaching the ridge of rocks, the track winds along a 


hollow, or yalley, filled with sndwy which extends north and 
south, to the foot of the highest summit, and is divided at 
intervals by en6rmous cr&vioes. These show the snow to be 

disp5sed in horizontal beds, each of which answers to a j^ ; 
and notwithstanding the ^dth of the fissures, the depth can 
in n6 part be m^ured. At four in the &ftemoon, the party 
reached the second of the thr^ great platforms of snbw thej 
had to traverse, and here they encamped at the height of 
1 2,768 feety nearly two miles and a half above the level of 
the s^. 

From the centre of th is platform, enclosed between tbe 
farthest summit of Mont Blanc on the sduth, its high steps or 
terraces on the ^t, and the Ddme de Gout^ on the wist, 

nothing butt snow appears. It is qiifte piire, of a d&zzliog 
whiteness, and on the high siimmits presents a slng^ular 
contrast with the sk^, which, in these Elevated regions, is 

4lmost bUlck. Here no living being is to be seen ; no appear- 
ance of vegetation; it is the abode of c5ld and silence. 

" When,'' observes"^Saus8ure, "I represent to myself 
Dr. Paccard and James Balma first arriving, on the decline 
of day, in these diserts, without sh^ter, without assistance, 
and even without the certainty that men could live in the 
places which they propose d to reach, and still pursuing their 
career with unsh&ken intrep idity, it is imp6ssible to admire 

too much their strength of mind and their courage.'' 

The company departed at seven the next morning, to 

traverse the third and last platfoimy the slope of which is 
extremely st^p, being in some places thirty*nine tieg^des. 

It terminates in precipices on all sides ; and the surface of 


tlie SDOw was s6 hkrdy that those who went f6reino8t were 
ohliged to cut places for the feet with hitchets. The l&st 
slbpe of &11 presents nd dknger ; hut the ear possesses so high 
a degree of r&ritj, that the strength is speedily exh&usted» 
and on approaching the summit, it was found necessary to 
stop every fifteen or sixteen paces to take breath. At eleven 

they reached the top of the mountain, where they continued 
f6ur hours and a hlUf, during which time M. de Saussure 

enjoy edy wit h raptm*e and asto nishment, a view the most 
extensive, as well as the most rugged and sublime in n&ture, 
and made th6se observations which have rendered this expe- 
dition important to philosophy. 

A light vkpour, suspended in the 15wer regions of the air, 

concealed from the sight the 16west and most rem6te objects, 
such as the plains of France and L6mbardy ; but the wh61« 
surrounding assemblage of high summits appeared with the 
gr^test distinctness. 

M. de Saussure descended with his p^y^ and the n^xt 

morning reached Cham5uni, without the slightest Occident 
A s they had taken the precaution to wear veils of cr&pe , their 

faces Wjere not exc5riated, nor their sight debilitated. The 
cold was not found to be so extremely piercing as it wav 
described by Dr. Pdccard. By experiments made with the 
hygrometer on the siimmit of the mountain, the air was found 
to contain a sfxth portion only of the humidity of thkt of 
Geneva; and to this dryness of the air M. de Saussure 

imputes the biiming thirst which he and his comp^ont 
ezp^enced. It inquired half an hour to make water b6i]f 

irhile at Geneva fifteen or sixteen minutes sufficed, and twelve 

or thirteen at the s^ side. None of the party discovered the 


smallest di£ference in the taste or smell of hr^ad^ wine, mist, 
fdiits, or liquors, as some travellers have pretended is the cas e at 

great heights ; hut 96unds were, of course, mdch weakened* 
from the want of objects of reflection. Of all the drgans, 
that of respir&tion was the m6st affected, the pulse of one of 
the guides beating ninety-eight times in a minute, that of the 
servant one hundred and twelve , and that of M. de Saussure 
one hundred and one; while at Chamouni the pulsations 
respectively were forty -nine, sixty, and s6venty»tw6. A few 
days afterwards, Mr. Beaufoy, an E nglish gentleman, suc- 
ceeded in a similar attempt, although it was attended with 
greater difficulty, arising from enlargements in the chasms in 
the Ice. 

Clabke's Wonders. 


A POBT'S noblest THEME. 

The works of man may yield delight. 

And jiistly merit prftise ; 
But though awhile they charm the sight, 

TMt charm in time dec&ys ; 
The sculptor's, punter's, p6et's skill,-^ 
The art of mind's creative will, 

In v&rious modes may t^m ; 

But none of these, however rSra 
Or Exquisite, can tr^th declkre 
A poet's n6blest th^me. 


The sun, uprising, may display 

His glory to the ^ye, 
And hold in majesty his w5y 

Across the vaulted sk^ ; 
Then sink resplendent in the w^st. 
Where parting clouds his rays inv^t 

With beauty's 86ftest beam ; 

Yet not unto the sun bel6ng 
The charms which consecrate in 86ng 
A poet's ndbiest th^me. 

The mdon with yet more touching grkce. 

The silent night may chto, 
And shed o'er many a 16nely plkce 

A charm to fueling d^ ; 
The c6untless st&rs which grace her r^ign, 
A voiceless but a lively tri^in . 

With brilliant light may gl^m ; 
But she, nor thiy, though fair to s^e, 
And form'd to love, can ever be 

A poet's n6blest theme. 

The winds, whose music to the ^ar 

With that of art may vie ; 
Now 16ud, awakening &we and fSa r, 

Then soft as pity's sigh ; — 
The mfghty ocean's &mple breast, 
CSlm or convdlsed, in wrfith or r^st, 

A gl6rious sight may s^em } — 
But neither winds nor b6undless s^a. 
Though beautiful or grSnd, can b^ 

A poet's ndblest tli&inft« 


The earth, our own d^ar native earth ! 

Has charms all hearts may 6wii ; 
Thej ding aromid us from our hlrth,— 

More 16ved as 16nger kndwn ; 

Hers are the lovely v&les , the wild 

And p athless forests, mountains piled 

On high, and many a stream. 

Whose beafiteous blinks the heart may 15ve, 

Yet none of thise can tnith approve 
A poet's n6blest th^me. 

The virtues which our fallen gt&te 

With foolish pride would d&im. 

May, in the mselves, be g6od and griati— > 

To us an §mpty nkme. 
Triith, jiistice, mircy, p&tience, Idve, 
May seem with man on earth to r5ve, 

And yet may only sSem ; 
To none of these, as m&n's, dare I 

The title of my verse appl^— 

A poet's ndblest th^me. 

To God al6ne, whose power divine 

Created ill that live ; 
To God al6ne can truth assign 

This pr6ud prer6gative ; — 

But how shall mkn attempt His prftise, 
Or dare to sing in m6rtal l&ys 

Omnipotence Supreme ! 

When seraph chSire, \ii\xftai-Hcii ^Sai6w%^ 


Proclaim His gl6rj and His 15ve 
Their ndblest^ sweetest th^e ? 

Thanks l>e to God I His gpraoe has shown 

How sinful man on «arth 
May join tho songs which roiiad his thr6ne 

Give ^dless pridses birth : 
He gave His Son for man to die ! 
He seat Ids Spibit from on high 

To c6nsiimmate the sch^mre : 

O foe that consumnuuion bl&t ! 
And let RBD£ia»Tio]A^^ be coolist 
A poet's n6blest th^ne* 




Russia. — The diversified sbil, climate, and siirface of 
kussia enable it to support & v&st tariety of vegetable pro- 
ductions. In an ag^ciiltural pbint of view, the wh6le p51ar 

district is of n6 value whatever ; a few firs and junipers, with 
some mSsses and a few g^&sses, being the s61e produce of the 
sbil. The districts watered by the Volga are tblerably fertile, 
as far as the steppes near AstradUi. The most fertile part of 
European Russia is the tract watered by the Dnieper and 
D6n rivers, called the Ukraine, and the government of 

Voron^h. In these extensive pUdns, as well as on the 

Idwer shores of the V51ga^ tiie w>\l \& «b \\s2ti\5»3^8- -sass^^S^ 


8tr5ngly impregnated with nitre, and formed from succ^ssiye 
layers of vegetable remains. In Livonia the soil is Excellent. 
The plains on the D6n are t6o rich for being manured. The 
southernmost parts of Finland are w€ll cultivated by the 
peaceful and indiistrious Fins. The fact is, that the tracts 
conquered at different periods since the reign of Peter the 
GrSat, from T&rkey, Sweden, Fdland, and Persia, in respect 
of fertility of s6il, abundance and variety of produce, are 
worth more than all the r^st of the Russian empire together* 
Rice succeeds well near KIslar in Circftssia. Hops are found 
in a wild state in Td,urida. Tobacco is cultivated to a cons!- 
derable extent in the sduth. The olive has been tried in vain 
near Astrac^, but prospers in the southern parts of the 
Crimea and T&urida. Sugar-melons abound near the Don 
and Vdlga. Excellent Artichokes are raised at Kief. Forests 
df cherry-trees are found in Valdimir, prunes in Little Russift 
and Cherson, and walnuts in Taurida, where are also found 

&pricotSy peaches, chestnuts, Almonds, figs, pistiUiia, and 
h^zel-nuts. On the Uralian heights are c^dar-nuts. The 
cultivation of the vine is at present confined to the country of 
the Don C6ssacks, Tiurida, and some districts upon the 
Pruth in Moldd.via. Pine soda is produced in Tfturida. 
Wirtemberg, — A Kw sm&ll tracts excepted, Wirtemberg is 

one of the most fertile and well-watered countries in Germany. 
It generally consists of campaign lAnds, and pleasant vkles, 
abounding in every necessary of life. Its fertility is such, 
that much mdre grain is raised than suffices for internal con- 
siunption, and hence considerable quantities are exp6rted. 
FUx and hSmp are klso cultivated. The valleys, which are 

some of them eight mWes m WglK ace Hmost covered with 

Lessons. 23^' 

forests of frUt-trees, whicb axe also abundant in ^ther parts of 
the country, so that cider and perry are the liquors drunk by 
the peasants when wine happens to be scarce and dSar. The 
moujitains are rich in minerals and covered with vines. The 
wines are p^atable and whdlesome, and are generally deno- 
minated N^ckar vrines. Cherries are grown in great quantities 

in the districts of the Alb and Bl&ck Forest. Game and 
poultry are abiindant, and l^ge herds of h5med cattle are 
reared in ydxious parts of the country. In the neighbourhood 

of Ulm, a particular branch of industry is the feeding of 
sniils: millions of these animab are fattened and sent to 
Vienna and Italy. 

Tyrol, — The Tyrolese mbuntains present ^very aspect, 
from the Iver blooming verdure of perp^ual sprhig, to the 

driary sterility of the frigid zone. Though their summits are 
Always covered with sn5w, yet their sides are clothed with the 
finest wbods, abounding in every variety of f 5rest trees , and 
sheltering niimerous species of g&me. Their valleys, though 
rocky in soil, have rich and extensive fields of c5m, flax, and 
tob&cco. On the en^inences which crown th^se fSrtile vales, 
y^ous sorts of fruit are grown, as also smill woods of 
ch^tnut trees; the vine is reared as far as Brixen. The 
riigged Aspect of this Elevated country, contrasted with the 
beaiity and fertility of its vSles, gave rise to a saying of the 
emperor Maximilian, 'Hhat the Tyrol was like a p^asant* g 
frbck — c6arBey indeed, but right w&rm." 

Bell's Geqgraphy, 





AlnSve^-beldw — where'er I f^kmf 
Thj guiding finger, Lord, I yiew» 

Traced in the midnight planet's bUbg, 
Or glistening in the ni5ming cKw ; 

Whate'er is bea&tifnl or f&ir, 

Is bat thine 6wn reflection thk«« 

I hear thee in the st5rmj wind. 

That turns the ocean wave to f6am ; 

Nor less thj wdndrous power I find. 
When siimmer airs around me rdam ; 

The tempest and the calm decllbre 

Thys^f, for thou art ^verj where* 

I find thie in the depth of night, 
And read thy name in Sverj stibr 

That drinks its splendour from the llgtit 
That flows from mercy's beaming dbr ; 

Thy fdotstool, Lord, each stfoy g^m 

Compdses — ^not thy diadem. 

And when the r&diant orb of light 

Hath tipp'd the mountMn tops with g)61d, 

fimote with the bl&z e my weary sight 
Shrinks from the w6nders I behbld ; 

Thkt ray of gl5ry, bright and f &ir, 

Ib but thy liying shadow th^re. 

LBS80NS» 23^ 

Thine is the sHeot noon of ntght, 

The twilight gye— the d^wy mom ; 
Whatever is heautiful and bright, 

Thine hands have fashioned to ad6rn. 
Thy gl6ry walks in gvery sphere , 

And &11 things whisper, *< Gdd is h^re I'* 




Leaving the mountain, and regaining the road which 
eondacts towards the east into the valley of Jehoshap hat, we 
passed the Fountain Siloa, and hence ascended to the summit 
of the Mount of Olives, passing in our wSy a number of 
Hebrew tbmbs. The Arabs on the top of this mountain are 
to be a{^roached with ca ution, and with a str6ng guard . 

Here, indeed, we stood upon h61y grbund ; and it is a question, 
which might be reasonably propbsed to J^w, Christian, or 
Mohimmedan, whether, in reference to the history of thei r 
respective nlttions, it be possible to obtain a m6re Interesting 
place of observation. So commanding is the view of Jerusalem 
afforded in this situation, that the eye roams over 411 die 
struts, and around the walls, as if in the snrvey of a p lan or 
m6del of the <aty> The most conspicuous object is the mdsqoe, 
erected uposi the site and foundation of the temjde of S6lomon. 
This edifice may, perhaps, be considered as the finest specimen 
of Sasaoenic Architecture which exists in the wdrld. About 


forty years before the ic[61atrou8 profanation of tbe Mount of 
Olives by S51omon, his afflicted parent, driven from Jerusalem 

by his son Absalom^ came to this eminence to present a 1^ 
offiSnsive sacrifice. What a scene does the sublime, thoogh 
simple description, given by the prophet, picture to the 
imagination of every one who has felt the influence of filial 
piety, but especially of the traveller standing upon the rhj 
spot where the &ged monarch gave to heaven the offering of 
his wodnded spirit ! " And David went iip by the ascent o! 
Mount Olivet, and wSpt as he went up, and had his head 

covered ; and he went b^efoot : and all the people that wen 
with him covered every man his h^ad, and they went iip 
weeping." Abstracted from Svery religious view, and consi- 
dered s61ely as a subject for the most gffted genius in poetr y 
or in pointing, it is, perhaps, impossible to select a theme 
m6re worthy the exercise of ex&lted tklents. Every thing 
that is sublime and affecting seems to be presented in the 
description of the procession or march of David, in his 
passage across the KMron ; and particularly in the moment 
when the Ark of the Covenant is sent back, and the Sged 
monarch having in vain entreated Ittai to l^ave him, begins 

to ascend the m6untain, preceded by the various people said 
to form the v&n of the precision. Every wonderful assods- 
tion of natural and of artificial futures, of landscape and of 
ftrchitecture, of splendid and diversified c5stume, of s&cred 
p6mp, and of un^ualled pathos, dignify the affi^ting scene : 

here a s61emn train of mdumers ; there the sons, the g^uardiaos 

and companions of the 'Ark ; mSn, w5men, children, wSrriors, 

it2t6smen, citizens, priests, L^vites, counsellors, — with &11 the 


circumstances of grancfeur disp laye d by surr6imdmg objects ; 
by the waters of the t6rrent ; by the sepul chres of the v^ley ; 
by the lofty rocks, the towers, bulwarks, and palaces of Slon ; 
by the magnificent perspective on ^very side; by the bold 
declivities and lofty summits of Mount Olivet ; and, finally, 

by tho concentration of ^ that is great and striking in the 
central group, distinguished by the presence of the afflicted 
mbnarch. If it should be urged that thi s subject is t6o 
crowded , it is only so in description; a painter, by the 
advantages of perspective, Easily obviates every objection of 
this nature. Haste and tiimult are, in a certain degree, the 
requisite characteristics of such a representation; and thSse 
a. judicious artist would know how to intcodC^ce. 



'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no m6re ; 

I mourn — ^but, ye w5odlands, I moui:n not for y5u ; 
For m6m is apprbaching, your char ms to rest6re, 

P erfumed with fr^sh frSg^ance, and gli ttering with d6w. 
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mbium ; 

Kind nature the embryo blossom will s^ve : 
But when shall spring visit the m5uldering flm? 

O when shall it d&wn on the night of the gr&ve ? 

'Twas thiis, b y the gjare of fiSlse science betrS/ d, 
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind. 


My thoagbts wont to roain» ^m shade onward to shade. 
Destruction befSre me, and sorrow behind. 

*' O pity, great Father of light," then I cried, 

** Thy creature, who fain would not wander from th^ ! 

Lo, bumbled in dfist, I relinquish my pride ; 

From doubt and from d&rkness thou 6nly canst fr^e*" 

And darkness and doubt are now flying awSy, 

No longer I roam in conjecture forl5m ; 
So breaks on the traveller, faint and astr&y. 

The bright and the bMmy e£Fulgence of mOrn. 
See Tr&th, L6ve, and MSrcy, in triumph descending. 

And nature all glowing in Eden's first bl6om ! 
On the cold cheek of DIath smiles and roses are blfading. 

And Beauty imm5rtal awakes from the tdmb ! 



MR. Pitt's reply to Horace walpole. 

Sir, — The atr6cious crime of being a y6ung mka, which 
the honourable gentleman has with such spirit and decency 

charged upbn me, I shall neither attempt to p^liate nor 
den^ ; but content myself with wishing that I may be one of 
those whose follies may cease with their y5uth, and not of 

thdse who continue ignorant in spite of &ge and exp^ence. 
Whether yduth can be attributed to &ny mkn as a re prgac h, 

1 will not. Sir, assume the prorince of determining; Tc^ 
surely age may jiistly become conttoptible, if the opportuni» 
tfef which it brings have passed away without imprdyement, 


and vice appear to prevail when the plUsions have suhstdedL 

The wretch who, after having seen the c6n8equence8 of a 
thousand errors, continues still to hl(inder, and in whom age 
has only added 6hstinacj to stupidity, is surely the ohject 
either of abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not that his 

grey h^ad should secure him from insults. Much more, Sir, 
is h^ to be abhorred, w^ho, as he has advanced in Sge, has 


receded from virtue, and become more wicked with Uss 
temptation; who prostitutes himself for m6ney which he 
cannot enj5y, and spends the remains of his life in the riiin of 
his c6untry. 

But youth, Sir, is not my 6nly crime : I have been accused 
of acting a th efttrical part. A theatrical pkrt may eitiier 
imply some peculiarities of gesture, or a disdmulation of my 
r^ sentiments, and the adoption of the opinions and language 
of andther mim. 

In the first s^nse. Sir, the charge is too trifling to be 

confuted, and deserves to be mentioned only that it may be 
despised. I am at liberty, like every 6ther mkn, to use my 

6wn language; and though I may, perhaps, have s6me 
Ambition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under 
&ny restr^nt, nor v5ry solicitousl y copy his diction or his 

mien, however matured by age, or modelled by exp^ence. 

But if &ny man shill,* by cliarging me with theatrical 

behaviour, imply that I utter &ny sentiments but my ^wn, I 

shall treat him as a calumniator and a villain ; nor shall any 
protection shelter him from the treatment he d^rves. I 
shaUy on such an ocdlsion, withou t &eY^\>\fe^\ x^Ka:^xs^RSQL "^S^ 


those fonns with which wealth and dignity entrench them- 
s^ves ; nor shall Anything hut &ge restrain my resentment — 
JLge, which always hrings with it one privilege, that of heing 

Insolent and sapercHious withbut piinishment. 

But with regard^ Sir, to those whom I have offiSnded, I am 
of opinion, that if I had acted a h5rrowed pkrt , I should have 
avoided th^ censure. The heat which offended th^m, is the 
ar dour of c o nviction, and that zeal for the service of my 
c6untry, which neither hope nor f^ shall influence me to 
suppr^s. I will not sit unconcerned while my liberty 'm 
invided, nor look in silence upon public r6bbery. I will 
exert my endeavours, at whatever hazard, tO repel the 
tggrSssori and drag the thief to jiistice, whoever may protect 
him in his vlllapy, and whoever may partake of his plunder. 



There is an hour of p^cef ul r^t, 

To m6urning wanderers given ; 
There is a tear for souls distrest, 
A balm for ^very w5unded br^t— 

'Tis found ab6ve in h^ven 1 

There is a soft, a downy bed, 
'Tis sweet as breath of €ven ; 


i c5ach for w^ary mortals-spread, 
^Tiere they may rest the iching h^ad^ 

And find rep6se in h^ven ! 

There is a home for weary souls. 
By sin and sorrow driven : 

When tost on life*s tempestuous shbals. 
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls, 

And all is dr^ar — but heaven ! 

There faith lifts up the tgarfiil ^ye. 
The heart with anguish riven ; 
And views the tempest passing b^ . 
And Evening shadows quickly fly. 

And all serene in h^ven ! 

The fr^g^rant flowers imm5rtal bl6om, 

And joys supreme are given ; 
There rays divine disperse the gl6om ; 

Beyond the confines of the t6mb 

Appears the dawn of h^ven ! 





And he said: A certain man had two sons; and the 
ouoger of them said to his f &ther, F&ther, give me the 
ortion of prdpertv that f&Ueth to me. And he divided unto 


them his living. And not m&ny days kfter, the younger son 
h aving gathered fli together, took his journey into a fir 
country, and thcire wasted his prbpeity, in living rlotouslj. 
And having spent all, a mighty famine came over thht land; 

and he began to be in wdnti And he wSnt and joined himself 
to one of the citizens of that country ; and he sent him into 
the fields to f^ed swine. And he would fSin have filled his 

belly with the husks that the swine did eat : and no man give 
unto him. And having come to himself, he said. How masT ? 

S • jf 

hired servants 4>f my father's have abiindance of br^ad, aad I 

perish with hibiger ! I will arise and go to mj father, 
will s^y to him. Father, I have sinned against h&ven, sad 
before thie, and am no longer worthy to be called thy son: 
make me as one of thy hired servants. And, rising up, he 
cime to his father. jBut when he was yet a great way off, 
his father s&w him, and had comp&ssion, and rihining, fell on 
his n^ck, and kissed him. And the son said to him. Father, 
1 have siifned against heaven, and in th^ sig^ht, and am ii5 
Ibnger w5rthy to be called thy sdn. But the father said to 
his servants, Brfaig forth the b€st robe , and piit it on him; 
and put a ring on his h^d, and shoes on his fget ; a nd bring 
\iither the fitted calf, and kill it ; and let us eat and m^e 
ai^rry. Because this my son was dead, and is come to IHe 
again ; was lost, and is f6und. And they began to be merry. 

Now his llder son was in the field : and as he came and 
drew nigh to the h5use, he heard miisic and d&ncing« And 
he caUed one of the servants, and isked what thes e things 
m^Bt. And he said unto him, Thy brdther is come * and 
ihj father hath killed the fitted calf, because he hathreeSived 


Tiim in health. And he was Sngry, and wduld not ^o in : 
Ins father, therefore, coming out entreated him. And he 

answering said to his father, L6, these m&nj years have I 
served thee, and I have nlver transgressed thy commandments . 
and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry 
with my friends : but as soon as this thy son, who hath de- 
voured thy property with harlots, was come, thou hast killed 

for him the fitted cklf. And he said unto him, S6n, thou art 
always with me, and all that I have is thine. It was fit that 
we should make merry and be gl&d : for this th^ brother was 
dead, and is come to life agkin ; and was lost and is found. 



Now, when Festus was come into the prbvince, after three 

jays he went iip from Cesar^ to Jerf^em^ Then the high 

priest and the chief men of the Jews made a statement against 
P^Uil, and requested him, and desired a favour concerning him, 
that he would send for him to Jerusalem, laying a pl5t to kill 
him by the wSy-. But Festus answered^ that Paul was kept 
in custody at Gesartfa, and that he himself would depart 
8li6rtly thither. Let those therefore, said he, who among you 
are perscms of weight, go down with me, and accuse this man, 
if there be anyfAult in him. And when he had tarried among 
them not more than t&n days, be went down to Cesar^; and 


the next day he took hU place ou the jiiclgpnent seat, and 
commanded Paul to be br6ught. And when he was come, 
the Jews who came down from Jerusalem stood round abdut, 

and laid m&ay and hSavy accusations against Paul, which 
thej could not prdve ; While he answered for himself . Neither 
against the l&w of the Jews, neither against the temple, uor 
yet against Cjfesar, have I committed &ny offence. But Festusi 
wishing to do the Jews a favour, answered Paul, and said, 
Art thou willing to go up to Jeriisalem, and thSre be judged 
of these things bef5re m^ ? Then said Paul, I stand at Csesar's 
judgment-seat, where I 6ught to be judged : to the Jews have 

I done nd wrong, as thou v6ry well knowest. For if I be 
guilty, and have done any thing deserving of death, I refibe 
not to die : but if there be nothing in the things of which 
these persons acciise me, no man has power to give me up to 
them to pl^e them. I appeal unto Caesar. Then Festos, 

when he had conferred with the council, answered. Hast them 
appealed to Cssar ? to Csesar shalt thou gd« 

And after certain dhys , king Agrippa and Bemice came 
nnto Cesar^ to salute F^tus. And when they had been 

there some time, Festus told Paul's case to the king, saying, 

There is a certain man left a prisoner by F^lix, about wh6my 
when I was at Jeriisalem, the chief priests and the elders of 

the Jews gave information, desiring to have sentence agkinst 
him. But I answered them, It is not the custom of the 
Romans to give away the life of &ny man, before he who b 
accused have the accusers face to f See, and have liberty to 
answer for himself concemiug the accusation. Therefore^ 
wiien they were come hither, without any del&y, I, the ii«iS 

t/SSSoNB* 245 

iday, took my place on the jiidgment-Bkfct, and commanded the 
man to be brought fdrth* But when his accusers stdod up , 

^ey brought forward ^o charge concerning him, such as I 
%Udpi^ted : but had certain quefitions against him, about their 

5wn religion, and about one Jesus, who was dSad, whom Paul 
ttfifinDoed to be alii^e. And as I knSw not what to do, vfhen 
rdie question was of such a kind, I asked him whether he were 
willing to go to Jerusalem, and th^e be judged concerning 
th^se Uiings. But when Paul had appealed to be kept for the 

bearing of Augiistus, I commanded him to be kept till I 
should sSnd him to C2esar. Then Ag^ppa said unto F^stus, 
I was wishing to hear the man myself. To"m6rrow, said 

^estus, thou ^halt h^ bltn. 

' On the motrow, therefore, when Agrippa Was come, and 
Bemice, with great pomp , and were entered into the place <if 
heaxmg, with the chief cap tains, and principal men of the city, 
Paul, at Festus' comm&n dmeo*, was brought fdrth. And 
Festus said. King Agrippa, and all who are here pr^ent with 

us, ye see this man, about whom all the multitude of the Jews 

Tiave made application to m^, both at Jeriisalem, and also h^re, 
shouting alou d that he ought not to live any Idnger. But 

when I found that he had done nothing deserving of death, 
and as he himself hath appealed to Augiistus, I determined to 
s^nd him. But to write about him any thing certain to our 
sSvereign lord, I have n6 power. Wherefore I have brought 
him forth before you, and specially before th^e, O king 

Agrippa , that after examination heldj I might have sdmewhat 


to write. For it appears to me unreasonable to send a pr4CK>ner| 

and not withal to signify the accusktions against him. 

Then Agrippa said unto P&ul, thou art.pennitted to speak 
for thyself. Then Paul stretched fSrth his hand, and begio 
to Answer for himself: 

I think myself happy, king Agrippa , that on ^very point on 
which the Jews accuse me, I have to defend myself before th^ 
this day ; especially as thou art acquainted with &11 the custontf 
and questions which are am6ng the Jews : wherefore I beseech 
thee to hear me p8,tiently. My way of life from my youth, 
that it was from the first passed among mine 6wn nktion, at 
Jerusa lem, ail the Jews know ; for they know me from the 
beginning, (if they would testify^) that after thie strictest sect 
of our religion, I Uved a Phirisee. And now I stand and am 
tried for the hope of the promise made by God to our f&thers. 
To which promise our twelve tribes, earnestly s erving God 
day and night, hope to come : and for this hope, king Agrippa 

I am accused by the Jews. 

What! is it deemed a thing incredible by y6u, that God 

should raise the d^ad? I vSrily thought with myself, that I 
ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus ot 
Nazareth. And this also I did in Jeriisaiem ; and many rf 
the people of God did I shut fip in piison, having received 
the authority of the chief priests ; and when they were put 
to d^ath, I gave my voice ag^nst them. And I pumshed 
them often in every synagogue , to compel them to blaspheme 
rChrist j : and, being exceedingly mad against them, I pene» 
cutod them even to f 6te\gii d\Ae&. ^ qt ntVviV ^^<^ctg^ a s I wis 


going to Damascus, with the authority and commiagiop of the 

chief priests, at mid-day, O king, I saw, as I was on my way, 

a light from heaven, ahore the brightness of the sun, shining 
round about me, and those who were j6umeying with me. 
And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a yoice 

speaking unto me, and saying in the Hebrew tongue, Saul, 

Saul, why persecutest thou m^ ? It is hard for thee to kick 

against the gdad. And I said, Whd art thou. Lord ? And 
he said, I am J^sus, whom thou persecutest. But rise, and 
st&nd upon • thy f^t ; for I hare appeared to thee for this 
purpose, to appoint thee a minister and a witness both of the 
things which thou hast slen, and of the things in which I shall 
be revealed to thee ; delivering thee from the people, and 
from the Gentiles, to whom now I send thee, to open their 

eyes, and to turn them firom darkness to light, and from 

the power of Satan to God, that they may receive forgiveness 

of sins, and inheritance among those who are sanctified 
oy th&t faith which is tdwards me. Whereupon, O king 

Agrippa, I was nbt disob^ent to the heavenly vision: but 
first to those of Damascus, and at Jer(balem, and through- 
out all the regions of Jud^a, and then to the Gentiles, I 

declared that they should repent and turn to God, and do 
works wdrthy of their repentance. For these causes the 

Jews seized me in the temple, and attempted to k ill me. 

Having thus obtained aid from God, I continue unto this 

day, witnessing both to small and great, saying n6 dther 

things than those which the prdphets and Mdses did say 
should take place: That Christ shodd suffer, and thai 


Im gho tttd be the first that should riise from the dead,*) 
should ihew light to the people, and to the Gentiles. 

And, as he thus spoke for himself, Festus said with a W 
Toice, Paul, thou art beside thyself ; thy miich leamiDgiD^ 
thee m&d. Buib he said, I am n6t mad, most n6ble Feel) 

but speak forth the words of triith mi sdbeniess. For 
king knoweth of these thiugs, before whom also I sp 

freely: for I am persuaded that none of these things 
bidden from him ; for this thing was not done in a c6r 
King A grippa, dost thou believe the pr5phets ? I know 

tliou believest. Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Almost 1 
persuades t roe to be a Christian. And Paul said, I woul 

(lod, that not only th6u, but also ^ that hear me this, < 

were (Umostf and altogethe r such as I am, except these ch^ 

And, when he had thiis spoken, t}^ Idng rose up, and 

governor, and Bernlce, a^d they that sdt with them. / 
when they were gone aside, they talked between themsel 

saying, Th is man is doing nothipg worthy of dgatb, or of chi 

Then said Agrippa unto Festus, This man might hayel 
set at liberty, if he had not appealed to Caesar. 

T^Js^ mip. 


])ttbli]k : Ptintod b-y Auxaxveu Ihow, %i , kblMy-ttrML 

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